


(Helplessly) Fall For You

by spideysmjs



Series: New Beginnings [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Coming of Age, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Light Substance Use, Mentions of Immigration, Miscommunication, New Kid Michelle Jones, Panic Attack, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Uncle Ben Origin Story, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: It takes her back to the summer, except when she looks out the window, the sunshine is covered by white clouds and the trees are different, too.She spends the entire 15-minute car ride absently scrolling through her phone. Peter doesn’t bother to talk either, and MJ doesn’t want to steal a glance because a part of her is convinced he’ll be staring right back at her.He always is.
Relationships: Gwen Stacy/Peter Parker (Past), Michelle Jones & Betty Brant & Cindy Moon, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker
Series: New Beginnings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537822
Comments: 55
Kudos: 118





	1. part three

“At homeroom next Friday, you can nominate five girls for homecoming queen,” Betty drums the top of their lunch table in the cafeteria. 

“We know,” MJ rests a hand on Betty’s shoulder, making eye contact with Cindy who shares the same opinion, “because you’ve been telling us every day since the announcement.”

“I know, it’s just…” Betty sighs. Her eyes fall down, cast on her mystery meat. There are many things that MJ does not have the heart to care for – high school royalty through the popular vote is an unquestionable item on that list – but there are people like Betty, whose life depends on that title. 

She likes Betty, thinks Betty deserves happiness, and she’d rather have Betty win than some random person she doesn’t know anyway. 

It’s nice to know royalty.

“I get it, Betty,” MJ reassures her. “Can we put the same name down five times?” 

“No,” she answers. “But you don’t have to put in five nominations.”

“I’m still going to do it anyway,” MJ states. “I’ll put you down, too, Cindy.”

Eyes terrified and wide, Cindy rapidly shakes her head. “I refuse to participate in daily lunch activities where everyone’s watching.”

“The spirit activities are the best part,” Betty pouts. 

“I’d love to see MJ up there,” Cindy chuckles, head motioning toward the small stage in the corner of the cafeteria. 

“Oh, no,” she immediately refutes the idea of being a part of a high school tradition she thinks is ridiculous. “I’m not even going to the dance.”

“What?!” her two new friends exclaim, shocked to the brim at MJ’s decision to avoid the dance. 

“No one’s going to ask me.” 

“I’ll ask you,” Cindy replies. 

“Aren’t you going with Abe?” Betty adds. Cindy looks down, fiddling with her thumbs as she nods. “See! You have a date already.”

“What about you? Who are you going with?” MJ inquires. 

“I don’t know. I have my eyes on people,” Betty’s eyes linger over to Peter Parker’s table, MJ’s curiosity rising at who she could possibly consider from that group. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need a date. Just a crown.” 

“Love the independence, queen,” MJ laughs, tossing a crumpled up napkin at Betty’s face. 

“And that’s why you should still go, MJ. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have a date,” Betty flashes an encouraging smile. “You can go with our group.” 

“It’s okay,” MJ says. “I won’t be missing out on anything.” 

She thinks about her old school’s homecoming happening on the same evening, wanting to run away from Jericho and attend _that_ dance with her friends instead – who all always swear to go stag every year. Liz will probably be homecoming queen because everybody loves Liz, and she’d ask her entire group to walk her down the aisle of the pep rally before the football game. It’s something they’ve anticipated for so long, and MJ won’t be able to be a part of it. 

“Well, we’ll miss you that night,” Betty rests her head on MJ’s shoulder. 

“You two are clingy.”

“For the past three years, we’ve only had each other, MJ. Let us have this.” 

“Sure,” MJ smiles, her heart feeling warmer knowing she has Cindy and Betty in the little fishbowl of Midtown High.

* * *

MJ shuts her locker, only to run into the face of her neighbor, Harry Osborn, smirking at her as he leans against his door.

“May I help you?” she clutches her chemistry book tighter against her chest. 

“What? I can’t be nice to Ms. New Girl?” Harry knits his brows closer together, his long hair falling perfectly. 

“I have a name.”

“Michelle.” 

She glances at the time on her phone. She could go to chemistry early and avoid spending the five long minutes of passing period left talking to Harry. 

“I really don’t see what your point is talking to me,” MJ starts walking toward her classroom as Harry follows, hands in the pocket of his black denim jeans. 

“Just trying to make a friend.” 

MJ halts, turning over to him. “You’ve got plenty of those, don’t you?” 

“But you don’t.” 

“It’s not something I’m desperately searching for.”

He chuckles. “Walls up. Like what Parker said.” 

“Peter said that about me?” she nearly drops her book. 

Peter talks about her. To his good friend, Harry. She tries to shake off the thought, rushing to the room as the hallways start to narrow down on her.

The walk to chemistry feels endless. 

“We talk about everything,” Harry says, leaning across MJ to open the door for her. She rolls her eyes. 

“I can open the door myself, thanks,” she huffs with zero hesitation. 

“He mentioned that too,” he grins, taking a few steps backward before saying, “Bye, Michelle.” 

She doesn’t say goodbye, inching to her shared desk with Felicia, tossing her backpack to the ground before scooting into the table. Her light mood has diminished, mind lingering about the potential other things Peter’s told Harry – praying to whatever God exists that he didn’t expose her entire life story.

Felicia strolls in late with a Starbucks cup in her hand. MJ didn’t even know they could leave campus for lunch. 

“Ms. Hardy, this is your fourth tardy and we've only been in school for a month,” Mr. Banner stands up from his desk. She sighs, plopping herself onto the chair next to MJ. 

“It won’t happen again,” Felicia takes a sip from her iced whatever in a way that lets MJ know it will most certainly happen again. 

Banner dives into the lesson not long after his discussion with Felicia, MJ doodling in the margins of her college-ruled notebook, ignoring the lesson plan. 

Felicia taps her. “I saw you talking to Harry Osborn.” 

“Barely,” MJ whispers, eyes focused on her cartoon doodle of Betty and Cindy, drawing Betty with a giant crown. “We’re just locker neighbors.” 

“Oh,” is all Felicia says before turning back to the board, loosening the defensive posture she had when first talking to MJ. 

After a twenty-minute lesson on the differences between acids and bases, Mr. Banner transitions the lesson into a lab to measure the pH strips of different liquids. It’s simple, but MJ can’t help but be confused – chemistry has never been her best asset. 

Luckily, Felicia moves through the lab with flying colors. “This shit is too easy.” 

“You’re really smart,” MJ comments, trying to catch up with the information Felicia’s jotting down from the experiment.

“I know,” she returns. “And I’m pretty. Aren’t I so lucky?” 

“Very lucky,” MJ grins, fond of how blunt Felicia is despite only knowing her for not even two weeks. Felicia was kind to her the moment they were paired up for lab, mentioning her familiarity with moving into a new city and having to make new friends – it was something Felicia was familiar with, having transferred into Midtown the middle of sophomore year. MJ ponders for a beat, wanting to continue a conversation with Felicia. “Homecoming’s in a couple of weeks.” 

“Already?” Felicia doesn’t look up from her work. “Are you going?” 

“I’m still thinking about it,” MJ lies. “Are you?”

“Only to laugh at everyone,” Felicia looks up, a devilish grin on her face. “My friend, Brad, and I always make it a point to be each other’s dates and participate in everything ironically.” She scoots closer to MJ on the table. “Plus, Brad’s mom would kill him if he didn’t go. She’s _traditional_ like that.” 

“My mom breathes down my neck like that, too.” 

Felicia stops scribbling in her lab book, eyes meeting MJ. “My parents don’t even bother to ask me about school. As long as I don’t get into trouble and I get accepted into an Ivy by the end of this year, nothing matters to them.” 

A sudden reminder of Betty’s proclamation of Midtown students rings in MJ’s head, her stomach churning at the idea that she has not yet even scratched the surface of what it means to be in a high school like this – a high school full of upper-class kids that can most likely pay to get out of the town they’ve been bound to for years. 

Only 38 more school weeks until graduation. She can do this. 

Felicia’s kind to MJ, helping her understand the concepts of their experiment thoroughly because MJ had been too engulfed in important matters (doodling) to pay attention to their teacher. However, something within MJ, whether it be her intuition or knack for keen observations, lets her know that Felicia’s not like this to everyone. 

Maybe it’s the way MJ understands Felicia’s brutal honesty, accepting it as a truth rather than jumping in defense or creating snap judgments about her. Somehow, she can relate to her lab partner’s honesty, understanding that Felicia doesn’t really take shit from anyone and knows who she is as a person in a crowd such as Midtown. 

She acts similarly to the way MJ had been in Belmont. 

Except, MJ’s stuck in a new place that traps her into silence, into a persona that moves in fear of fitting into the mold that she’s noticed Midtown creates for all the kids that can easily melt into it, and although MJ has decided she will _not_ be a carbon copy of anyone, she’s also fearful in standing out. 

Her time in Jericho is limited, stuck in between a frame of 38 weeks (and counting), and she prefers to stick to the walls and not get sucked into the talk of the town, although being acquainted with Peter Parker has already tainted her smooth transition into no one-ness. It had been a tough start, but her insistence of ignoring her ex-coworker is becoming easier.

Life, MJ hopes, can only get better from this point on.

* * *

“Let’s settle down now,” Mr. Harrington, a nervous slice of a man, attempts to corral the Academic Decathlon team from the release of their pent up energy from the entire day of classes. MJ shoots him an understanding smile, being the only student ready to listen to him. He clears his throat and speaks louder. “We have a _new_ member, everyone.” 

The small group goes silent, eyes turning to MJ. 

Her throat feels dry, scanning her eyes in the crowd of both familiar and unfamiliar faces – Cindy, the only one she knows by name; The two boys from Peter’s little clique; and the rest unknown. But the one person MJ notices the most is the one who’s absent, the person she’s been hiding from, despite the fact that she continues to search for his face in the throng of sweaty adolescents making their way out of gym class.

It’s embarrassing for herself knowing she’d been preparing to see Peter the entire day, to finally interact with him in a setting where she _has_ to, but to her disappointment, he’s gone. 

“Where are you from, Michelle?” Harrington smiles, his arms folded on the elongated library desk reserved for the club. 

“Belmont, Massachusetts,” she answers politely. “And my friends call me MJ.” 

“Well, MJ, welcome to Academic Decathlon.” 

“Glad to be here. She’s running late, but our captain will give you a new binder once she gets here. Gwen’s wonderful, she’ll run down the basics of how the team is run if you’re game to stay a few minutes after the meeting.”

MJ’s eyes immediately move to Cindy, who’s already staring back. 

“I can stay, yeah.” 

Ten minutes into introductions – Mr. Harrington has a routine of a fun question per meeting, which increased MJ’s social anxiety significantly – Gwen strides into the library with her arms crossed, clutching the binder that would soon be in front of MJ. 

“Sorry, I’m late. I had to deal with something personal,” Gwen addressed her tardiness truthfully, her face falling by the second. Cindy and MJ exchange another glance.

“It’s okay, Gwen,” Harrington, who by now MJ understands is a slight pushover, forgives her. “Let’s get started on drills.” 

MJ bites her nails during practice, nerves rising from the lack of practice she’s had with studying trivia and other information. Her strongest subjects are literature and history, followed by math. This semester, the main topic for Nationals is the Renaissance, which is a subject MJ can follow clearly. However, at practice, Gwen’s methods of going through lightning rounds with a partner slow MJ down. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t study these in the summer like you all did,” MJ grows exponentially frustrated at herself for not knowing the answers by heart. 

“All good! We’re practicing for a reason,” her lightning round partner, who she learned was Ned Leeds (and also Peter’s best friend), attempts to reassure her. Although his intentions were to cheer her up, a heavy feeling of insecurity looms over MJ’s head thinking about the need to catch up with the rest of her team.

Once the flashcards are put away and Harrington announces team updates for their following meeting, MJ really wants to pretend she has already forgotten about the extra meeting with Captain Gwen. In fact, she wants to pretend she never wanted to join the damn club in the first place. 

“Hey,” Gwen readjusts her baby pink headband. It matches her baby pink skirt. “Thanks for joining. I know it’s probably been a difficult time for you here.” 

The sentiment irks MJ. Everyone at Midtown, staff, and students, look at her as if she’s a lost puppy, and although the school’s full of people who are _full of themselves_ , the transition into the new place has only been made difficult because no one shuts up about it. 

“I’m doing fine,” MJ states, holding back a face of frustration. It’s not in her to blow up in front of a stranger – especially one that’s dating Peter. 

“Oh,” Gwen says, “that’s great then. I’m glad.” 

“Harrington said you had stuff to explain?” MJ prompted Gwen to hurry, not bothering to sit down or stop her foot from tapping impatiently.

Gwen takes a sharp inhale through her nose. “We have meetings Tuesdays and Thursdays, and when we have a competition, we add an extra Friday meeting. There are team bonding nights when I get the chance to plan them, and they’re usually at Flash’s house. I’m also available to help you catch up if you want.” 

“I think I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” Gwen says. There’s a moment of silence, with the beeps from library scanners and a low hum of chatter from students working on a project. 

MJ doesn’t break eye contact from her, noticing now that her eyes have a greenish-gray tint and her skin is close to flawless, peppered with freckles on the bridge of her nose. Her bangs are a perfect length and thickness, and she has glossed lips.

She’s beautiful in a very obvious way. 

“I should head home now,” MJ snaps out of her trance, gripping onto the binder she’d have to add on top of her SAT practice tests, working, and newspaper assignments she’ll get from Betty tomorrow, and her routinely assigned homework. 

Perhaps she’d bitten off more than she can chew, but at the same time, she has no social life. So everything will be fine. 

As she steps away from the conversation, Gwen calls her back. “MJ?” 

“Yeah?” MJ turns, bracing herself for another awkward few minutes with her. 

Gwen pauses for a moment, searching inside herself an answer she didn’t prepare. “Good luck. Catching up on the stuff. I’ll see you Thursday.” She smiles, teeth even and white. 

MJ salutes her. “Thanks, Cap.” 

She doesn’t turn back, but she hears the scooting of a library chair and the lack of footsteps. Gwen’s probably staying to study. When she walks out of the entrance, she finds herself meeting eyes with Peter, his breath sharp and in a rush.

He frowns. “I’m late.” 

“Yup.” 

“I didn’t realize there was the practice until I was heading out to my car.” MJ nods at him, listening. He sighs. “I told May I’d pick her up today from work. Her car broke down last weekend.” He runs his hands through his fluffy hair. “And then I got into… Well, I was late to that, too.” 

Someone walks through the doors, pardoning themselves as they walk in between Peter and MJ. They shuffle to the side of the hallway, against lockers. MJ doesn’t say anything to him, her knuckles feeling tense from her grip of the binder.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m saying this to you,” he straightens his back, staring at her forehead. Granted, MJ does feel guilty giving him a cold shoulder, especially since she’d anticipated seeing him the entire day. 

Peter’s eyes are droopy and red, and his circles darker than usual. Beads of sweat fell from his forehead. He most likely booked it from the parking lot. 

Concern strikes her. There’s something within her that makes her want to ask what’s wrong. 

She wants to listen. She wants to be here for Peter. 

Yet, she offers, “It’s fine. Gwen is still inside the library. If you wanted to catch up on the meeting.” 

“Oh,” he says. “I’m just going to ask Ned.” 

_They’re on and off. It’s a big mess._

MJ starts walking down the hall, to the double doors of the main exit. Peter follows with a few steps back between them. “Bye, Peter.” 

“Wait.” MJ turns around. “Can I… do you need a ride home?” he offers, his voice cracking as he speaks. 

She contemplates. Home is far. Peter’s being nice.

But Peter also made her angry, he doesn’t understand why, and she doesn’t want to waste her breath explaining how she feels – it’s not important. She’d rather throw it all away before she gets tangled in a web of complicated emotions. 

“MJ?” he repeats.

Home really _is_ far, though. She turns to him. “That’d be great.” 

When she buckles her seatbelt, Peter puts his hand on the passenger seat as he backs out. His long sleeve is tight around his biceps.

MJ swallows. 

His car smells the same as it always does, like fresh laundry and a touch of boy-sweat. Peter forgets to hand her the aux cord. She doesn’t want to ask for it, so they drive in silence. 

It takes her back to the summer, except when she looks out the window, the sunshine is covered by white clouds and the trees are different, too. Maybe the trees can teach her how to deal with drastic changes. They’d probably tell her to just _talk_ to him. 

She doesn’t want to listen to the damn trees. So she spends the entire 15-minute car ride absently scrolling through her phone. Peter doesn’t bother to talk either, and MJ doesn’t want to steal a glance because a part of her is convinced he’ll be staring right back at her.

He always is. 

Peter turns his engine off as he pulls to the front of MJ’s house. “I really want to know what I did wrong.” 

MJ keeps her eyes forward, focusing on the poorly parallel parked car in front of her. “You… you just…” her lips tremble, mind searching for the right words. “I’m not someone you can just run away to when you’re fighting with your girlfriend.” 

“W-what?” he stutters.

“The summer? You’d text me for a week and then you’d stop. You took me to the city on your birthday, and then you didn’t talk to me. And then I see you with Gwen, and... and everything clicks.” She drops her hands in her lap, not wanting to break Peter’s already beaten down dashboard. “You shouldn’t just… run away to me when you have no one else to talk to.” 

He frowns, eyebrows scrunched. “MJ, I didn’t know.”

“Well. Now you do,” she exhales, the tension on her shoulders and the rising heat on her face deflates. A beat. “I’m not a punching bag.” 

“You aren’t. I wasn’t being considerate.” Peter puts his hand on MJ’s shoulder, using his thumb to rub circles on her skin. “I wanted to talk to you more because it’s easy to talk to you. I thought we could be really great friends from our first shift together.” 

_Friends_. She bites her lip. “I thought so, too.”

“Then I messed it all up,” he moves his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

She wants to tell him she had a crush on him, that she thinks she still might. But she knows her boundaries, and Peter’s probably going through a hell that she doesn’t want to make hotter. “It’s okay, Peter.”

“Let me make it up to you.” His pout makes her melt. She can’t do this, this _pining_ for someone who’s emotionally unavailable or unaware. 

“You did. With the car ride.” She scoops her backpack from the floor. “You don’t have to do anything else, Peter.”

“But–”

“It’s okay. We’re okay. But we just collide with each other. In school.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she opens the door of the passenger side. He looks down, nodding at her statement, taking it in and understanding that she’d picked her place in the school, and it wasn’t with him. 

“I still want to be friends, Em.” _Em._ She needs to stay persistent, needs to avoid the way brown eyes glisten as he looks at her. How could Peter look at someone like that, and not feel the same way MJ feels at that moment? 

“Thanks for the ride, Parker.” She shuts the door, turns around, and shuts her eyes for a moment before entering the house. Once she’s in, she peeks out the window, Peter scrolling through his phone for a second before driving away.

* * *

MJ scans her surroundings.

There’s a sea of blue and gold face paint, t-shirts, and confetti in the metal stands behind her chanting along to the cheerleaders’ obscure words of spirit and pride of the Midtown Tigers. The aroma of popcorn is combined with a secret hint of beer, knowing that some students love to pre-game the first football game of the season. 

Writing an article about football for Midtown’s newspaper, _The Daily Bugle_ , isn’t MJ’s ideal first story, but she had accidentally slipped to Betty that her father used to drag her and Eric to Patriots games when they were little. Knowing more about football than she would like has never given her an advantage in anything. 

During half time, the cheerleaders perform, followed by the Midtown Dance Team. She makes her way to the field to get a closer look at the dancers, MJ hoping she can find an angle of the first game that isn’t all about the game itself. 

Hip hop blares through the speakers as the dancers perform. She squints, seeing Felicia front and center of the formation. Her movements are fluid, limbs following the choreography with precision, making her stand out – especially with her grey hair shining in the moonlight.

When the performance is over, the dancers crowd with one another on the sidelines, cheering each other on, their energetic support making MJ long to be a part of _something_. 

Maybe decathlon competitions will feel the same way. 

“You come here often?” MJ turns around, seeing Peter’s cheeky grin with a DSLR camera hanging around his neck. She rolls her eyes, hoping it comes off playful. 

“I’m tired of running into you,” she shakes her head, grinning at the fresh-cut grass, thinking about the looks they’ve exchanged as they walked down the halls or sat across the cafeteria during lunch, an unspoken language forming between the two of them. 

Ever since the car ride, MJ’s softened up to him bit by bit, her guilt eating her up alive as her she thinks about the way her mother labeled her as someone who can easily cut people off. She doesn't want to end her adolescence running away from things or people that make her happy. 

Peter makes her happy, despite his knack for being oblivious. And she still keeps her distance, wanting him to know that he doesn’t get to have what they had in the summer after one small apology and a 15-minute car ride. She’s still hurt – she’s allowed to be. 

She thinks Peter understands that, seeing as how he’s kept his distance – respecting her reluctance to be close. There really isn’t anything wrong with him, and that fact alone frustrates MJ to no end; she wants to find a reason to not long for his presence. 

Peter shrugs, fixing the settings on his camera before taking more shots of the dancers’ huddle. “I’m just doing my job.” 

She chuckles. “I’ll let you do that, then. See you around, Parker.” 

He nods at her, shuffling closer to the field as the second half is about to begin. She watches him walk, hands gripped on the camera, swaying his back as he usually does. It’s hard to not look, but she makes her way back to the stands to take notes of the remainder of the game. 

Midtown wins. No one’s surprised.

MJ wades through a crowd of high spirits and celebration, clutching onto her small bag. She escapes from the body heat and towards the entrance of the field, taking sanctuary at an empty bench. She jots down significant plays from the last half of the game, ideas of how she wants to frame the story, and the general emotions she felt from the crowd as they watched the final touchdown.

She’s deep into her ideas until a duffle bag plops onto the metal bench. MJ looks up and sees Felicia, still donning her over-sized dance shirt. Standing next to her is another member of the dance team - tall, tan, and built. 

“Looking a little lost there,” Felicia comments, then waves over to her friend. “This is Brad.”

MJ nods to him. “Sup.”

“Felicia told me you just transferred from Boston?” he asks. 

“No, not Boston bu-“ 

“I said Belmont, Brad,” Felicia corrects him and whispers to MJ, “he loves making shit up.” 

“I estimated.”

“Well, it makes me look like I don’t listen.”

“But you don’t,” Brad scoffs. 

“Maybe not to you.” MJ chuckles at Felicia’s comment to Brad, having forgotten about the notes she’s supposed to be scribbling. “Anyway, MJ, do you want to come over?” 

“Me?” 

“You _are_ MJ.” Felicia laughs. “I’m having some friends come over. And you look a little lonely. So come with.”

“Okay,” she answers, reminding herself to send her brother a text to not pick her up. “Sure.” 

The two-loop arms, leading MJ to the car. The number of vehicles is slowly filtering out, but one Camry stands out as MJ wraps herself in her arms from the wind and Brad searches for his keys in his duffle bag. 

From a distance, Peter’s leaning against the driver’s side – his blurry figure hunched over, head down on the ground. Next to him is Gwen, waving her arms in the air as she paces back and forth. He rubs his neck, slowly moving his head up to rest at the top of his car. 

The moment she starts walking, Peter reaches out, only for Gwen to shake his hand away and storm off. 

“Future homecoming queen makes a scene yet again,” Felicia acknowledges before opening the door for MJ. 

“Welcome to the Brad-Mobile, I just washed her,” Brad exclaims, MJ shuffling into the seat and buckling up – the image of Peter’s deflated shoulders still in her head. He deserves to be happy. 

Felicia blasts her music in the car, the bass pumping furiously making MJ vibrate in the backseat, too shy to ask for her to turn it down. Felicia’s waving her hands around with intense animation as she tells Brad a story while he drives to her house. 

All MJ can hear are muffled sounds of annoyance and Brad’s chuckling. 

**Mom** : where r u?

 **MJ** : Hanging out at Cindy’s. Betty will take me home. 

**Mom** : ok. don’t be home too late. 

Lying makes her feel awful, but when Brad rolls into Felicia’s driveway and MJ sees a house as big as Betty’s and a neatly cut front lawn with a fountain surrounded by roses, she doesn’t mind name dropping the only people that Tammy trusts.

It’s only one lie. One night. 

As the three enter her double doors, MJ finds herself in a house with high ceilings and marble floors. There’s a chandelier hanging in the middle of the foyer, met with one round table decorated with a succulent atrium in the middle. Although the house is reminiscent of Betty’s, its size is the similarity. 

Chills travel down MJ’s spine as Felicia leads the way through an empty home. Both Brad and Felicia drop their duffels under the kitchen table, MJ sitting properly on the black leather couch. 

“Your house is huge,” MJ blurts, immediately regretting her choice of words when she sees Felicia snort. 

“That’s what happens when you have two pharmacists as parents,” she shrugs, “but I’m never home. No one is.”

MJ could stay at home all day if she was Felicia, peering through the living room and seeing the bookcase in the hallway leading to more doors that she wishes she could explore without coming off as rude. 

When the doorbell rings, Felicia makes Brad welcome everyone in and they eventually flow into the living room, filling up the empty spaces of the couch and floor. The chatter fills the house with noise, MJ no longer feeling the frigid emptiness she initially noticed when she walked in. 

Everyone who walks in introduces themselves to MJ, though she can’t keep up with the number of names. They continue to chatter about how Eliza was off-beat by two counts the entire halftime show, but it didn’t look as bad as Lily breaking the formation. They’re all on the dance team, and MJ can’t help but wonder why Felicia insisted on inviting her over. 

She feels lost.

She shouldn’t have come. 

Felicia walks back from the kitchen with cans of Budlight and Coors balancing in her arms. “Who’s drinking?” 

Only two people raise their hands, others opting out. Another girl, MJ thinks her name is Sally, leans into the circle whispering, “Do you have…” 

“Don’t I always?” Felicia giggles. “Let me grab it from my room.” 

Everyone applauses and continues their debrief about the performance. Brad, who squeezes himself next to MJ, cracks open a can and sips – making a fan. “Beer’s not that great. I don’t know why Felicia likes it so much.” 

“I’ve never drank, so I wouldn’t know.” MJ shifts in her seat. There was one time Liz tried to convince MJ to drink wine when Liz’s mom wasn’t home, but she was too paranoid she’d get drunk. 

“It’s really not that great,” Brad laughs. “You can have a sip if you want. But I don’t force people into it.” 

“I think I’m okay,” she declines. Felicia returns with a Ziploc stuffed with paper towels and an Altoids tin can. The doorbell rings again, and Felicia’s face lights up as she smirks at Brad. 

“Go ahead, I’ll prepare this,” Brad grabs the peculiar bag of materials and lays it out on the coffee table. 

“Yes!” Sally claps her hand, followed by the other four dance members whooping and celebrating. 

“What is it?” MJ asks. Everyone gasps, looking at her with shocked eyes. 

“This,” Brad ruffles through the paper towels and pulls out a glass device, “is a pipe.” 

“Oh,” MJ breathes. “Weed?” 

“Yep,” he answers as he stuffs the pipe with greens. “You don’t have to try it.” 

Felicia strolls back in after a few minutes with Harry Osborn towering over her from behind. Everyone greets him like it’s a normal thing. It’s strange – MJ never would have guessed Felicia would tolerate someone like Harry.

“Michelle,” he greets her, smirking. “Didn’t know you came around here.” 

“I don’t,” she says. “This would be the first.” 

“Hopefully not the last.” His remarks make MJ cringe, especially because he addresses her by Michelle and that version of her has been long gone, since before she even moved. 

“Don’t be a creep,” Felicia shoves him. 

“You still talk to me,” Harry winks at her. 

Felicia blushes, rolling her eyes at the same time. “We’re _not_ talking.” 

“I know, I know,” Harry lifts his hands as if to back off. “Too busy doing other things.” 

MJ rests her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the arm of the couch. The pipe travels around the circle, Harry coughing furiously after he lights it. Everyone laughs; he clearly doesn’t come to these things as much as he bragged. 

Harry and Felicia share the recliner chair, Harry peering through the room scanning each person in detail, cracking his knuckles and shaking his leg. From the corner of MJ’s eyes, she sees Felicia lean into his ear and whisper something, his body loosening up.

“MJ, do you want a hit?” Felicia asks. MJ brings her lips together, chewing the inside of her cheek. She wants to try it, to see what it’s like. Back home, her friend Danny always had a supply that MJ never wanted to be a part of. But somehow, in Felicia’s mansion-like house surrounded by her dance friends and Harry Osborn, something within her makes her reach out for the pipe and lighter. 

She holds the blue and green-tinted glass in her left hand and the lighter in her right. The chatter dies down with the low hum of music feeling louder and louder the longer she stares at the items cluelessly. As soon as she’s about to change her mind and pass the things to Brad, he offers to help, grabbing the lighter and pipe and instructing her what to do.

“Inhale, then inhale again,” he directs her. “It might hurt, and you’ll cough.” 

MJ follows his instructions, coughing like he said she would afterward. “What am I supposed to feel?” 

“It’s hard to explain,” Brad says. “I guess you’ll just feel it if it happens. But no pressure if you didn’t like it.” 

She shrugs. Nothing feels different. 

The group passes around the pipe three times more before her eyes start to feel droopy and her body starts sinking into the couch. The voices around her start to feel muffled, music feeling amplified in her ears. 

“MJ, are you hungry?” Felicia raises her eyebrows. Now that she mentions it, her stomach does feel lighter. She nods and in return, Felicia and Harry leave their seats and lead her to the kitchen. 

Felicia offers her slices of oranges and a glass of water, the citrus flavor settling into MJ’s mouth as if she’s never tasted the fruit before. The juice _feels_ vibrant in her mouth and the ice water soothes her throat thoroughly. 

“You know who we saw bickering earlier after the game?” Felicia teases Harry. He shakes his head. 

“Peter and Gwen?” MJ stares daggers into the plate of oranges while Harry laughs. “They should have stayed broken up in the summer.” 

“Yup. She probably just wants to be walked out with a date at homecoming,” Felicia says.

Harry sighs. “Gwen’s not bad.”

“You can’t say that to me,” Felicia snaps. “All she cares about is her image.” 

“That’s not true.” 

MJ’s running out of orange slices to suck on, her head spinning with new information as the exchange before her unveils answers to questions she’s been asking herself. 

“You’re just saying that because you’ve all been friends for so long.”

“Our _parents_ are friends. And May.” 

Their back and forth persists, but MJ coughs to let them know she’s still there, not sure if she should be listening in on their conversation. “Should I… leave?” 

“This isn’t stuff people don’t know about already,” Felicia states, holding out her nails and admiring the polish. 

Harry, perplexed and stressed, laughs it off. “Doesn’t matter, Michelle. Midtown has no secrets.”

“Okay,” MJ wipes the corner of her mouth with her long sleeve. “I just don’t really feel comfortable talking about Peter?” 

“That’s funny,” Harry makes his way around the island, moving closer to MJ as he reveals, “he’s talked a lot about you.” 

MJ blinks. She almost chokes on the glass of water Felicia gave her. “What?”

“Back in the summer. His _super awesome co-worker_ he wants to be friends with?” Harry says. 

“Right.” MJ’s chest feels tighter than usual and her head is flying. 

“Every time we hung out he always found a way to talk about you, your books, your music, whatever,” Harry states it so casually like it’s a small and unimportant piece of information. But to MJ, it’s everything. She keeps it close to her heart. 

“I’m bored,” Felicia yawns, stepping to the hazy living room. MJ throws her eaten slices in the trash and washes the plate. Harry lingers in the kitchen.

“You know,” he starts again, “Peter talking about you is the reason why I try to talk to you in the halls.” 

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice.” She stacks the dish on the rack. Washing one plate felt like an eternity. 

Harry moves closer. “I’m serious.” 

“I believe you.” MJ turns directly in front of Harry. 

“So, can we be friends Michelle?” 

“My friends call me MJ.”

“Okay, Michelle.”

She swears he winks, which makes her uncomfortable considering he’s there for Felicia, for whatever the hell they’re doing. MJ’s not here to judge, but Harry carries himself in a way that feels like he’s hiding something – like there’s more to the way he acts than he lets on – like his life is a performance and everyone else is watching. 

Before walking back into the living room, she watches from the doorway a crowd of friends sharing and laughter, and she can’t be bothered to try to fit into it. 

It’s time for her to go home and read a book while covered in blankets with the window cracked enough for a cool breeze to settle in, a cozy feeling. 

She declares her moment in a different life is over not really fond of the high that, as soon as she got home, made her overthink every single word Harry had uttered about Peter, about his life, about their friendship, and about MJ. 

MJ doesn’t even get the chance to lift a page of her book, her eyes becoming heavier and heavier as she drifts off into a slumber, the idea of Peter talking about her making her feel warm. 

* * *

MJ was nowhere near productive on the weekend, recovering from the substance experience that she won’t dare to relive again after coming home from Felicia’s and feeling an unwanted influx of physical sensory. Even Wayne noticed her sluggish movements the following day at the ice cream shop.

Monday was a drag, MJ having to interact with Harry everyone passing period as he attempts to get to know her better. Granted, he’s no longer the asshole MJ thought he was, learning from Friday night that he’s as blunt as Felicia, figuring their attitudes were the reason why they would sneak around their non-relationship relationship. 

If anything, Harry’s persistent, wanting to know more about MJ, about her life before Jericho, about everything. But she can’t bring herself to reveal anything to Harry – she doesn’t feel a touch of trust with him, her guard up each time he’s spoken to her. 

He’s just another ornament to Midtown’s tree of gossip.

“So you mentioned Liz is your best friend?” Harry asks again after school by their lockers. 

“Yeah,” she shuts the metal door after stuffing her books in. Her answers have been short, to the point, and lacking storytelling. 

“How’d you meet? Will she come visit again during winter break?” he persists. 

She turns to him, head tilting to the left as she clutches the straps of her backpack. “No offense, Harry, but I don’t understand why you have the sudden need to learn all about me.”

“It’s not sudden.” 

“Sure,” she relents. “We met in elementary. And I haven’t made plans to see her yet.” 

In fact, MJ hasn’t really made an effort to speak to Liz at all, only sharing memes every couple of days. With school, work, SAT’s, and her depleting social energy, MJ doesn’t _want_ to talk to anyone when the day ends and she locks herself up in her room. 

“If she does come here, you can introduce her to me and Felicia.”

“So you can tell your secret to another person who won’t give you shit for it?” MJ lifts her eyebrows, peering into Harry’s eyes. She had learned from Felicia, as she drove her home on Friday, that Harry’s main group of friends have no idea about their little affair. It’s not a serious thing, the two of them focusing on mainly physical interactions, but when MJ looked at Felicia as she drove MJ home, she could figure that maybe for her, it wasn’t just physical.

But knowing Felicia, she would never let anyone know that. 

Harry stops in his path. “You’re really trying to get a kick out of me, aren't you?” 

“I’m not _trying_ to do anything,” she shrugs, heading towards the newspaper room to finish her football game article. “My opinion won’t change whatever you’re doing.” 

He opens the door for her, a gesture that he can’t seem to let go of. “And what _is_ your opinion?” 

She stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “That if you really considered them your friends, you’d tell them the truth.” 

MJ turns away, leaving Harry with his mouth agape in the doorway, not once looking back at him as she finds a desktop to finish her work. Not even five minutes later, she finds someone plopping on the computer next to her while she waits for her Google Drive to load. MJ scratches her head, and turns as she speaks.

“I already get too much of you in passing period, can you jus–” 

It’s Peter, the camera on his lap and a sheepish look on his face. “I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for.” 

His eyes are less droopy, but the dark circles remain. The first few weeks of school hasn’t been good to him. She feels for him – she wants to be there for him knowing that, from the way Harry spoke about him at Felicia’s, he might not really have anyone to talk to. 

“Sorry, I thought you were Harry.” 

“I didn’t know you knew him.” He unloads the memory card from his camera, uploading the photos onto the desk. 

“He and I just have lockers next to each other, so he thinks can ask me all these questions.” 

Peter’s laugh feels familiar like she shouldn’t have stopped listening to it in the past three weeks. “That’s Harry for you.” 

A beat. “Peter?” 

“Yeah?” 

“How are you?” she asks, concerned as she faces him, his eyes still fixed on the photos he’s selecting before he turns to her. 

“Fall's always been a hard time for me,” he answers, the tone in his voice revealing more than he’s ever said in words, the way he exhales releasing all of the built-up frustration in his body as if MJ’s inquiry helps him through it.

“Does the start of the new year stress you out?” 

“That. And other things. Family stuff.” He doesn’t mention Gwen specifically, but a part of MJ feels as though that’s the last thing on his mind like something has changed within the past two weeks of the new school year.

MJ places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly as she talks. “I hope everything works out. Really.”

“Thanks,” he brings his hand from the mouse and places it on top of hers, squeezing back. “I hope everything is good with you, too.” 

The moment she slips her hand away, the intensity of his touch falters, but the tension in the air between them remains. “I… I want to let you know that I’m here for you.” 

“Really?” his eyes brighten with sorrow glossed behind it.

“Yeah. We’re friends, Pete.” 

“I’m glad. I missed you,” he tugs one side of his lips, giving her a crooked smile. 

“Me too.” 

They spend the rest of their time in the newspaper room in comfortable silence, and for the first time, MJ feels valid at Midtown. She feels right. 

Like she belongs.

“Do you need a ride home?” Peter offers after the newspaper advisor kicks them out. MJ’s just finished up her draft and sent it to Betty for edits and Peter selected his five best photos for the first print of the semester. 

“No, it’s okay. My brother’s picking me up.” On cue, she hears the familiar sound of Eric honking the horn from Tammy’s car, impatient and loud. “We’re supposed to get our mom and go grocery shopping together.”

“That’s sweet. Is everything okay with your brother now?” he recalls their past conversations, a tugging feeling at the bottom of MJ’s heart knowing Peter remembers so much about her. 

“Not really. But I’ve been so busy that I haven’t really tried.” 

“You should. Try,” he encourages. 

“Yeah,” she glances back, Eric looking impatient in the driver’s seat with one hand on the wheel. He honks again. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll text you?” Peter offers.

“Yeah,” she breathes again before smiling and running off to the car, still feeling Peter’s eyes on her as she walks away.

“I’ll see you later.” MJ hears his voice at a small distance before entering the car. 

Eric starts the engine again. “You gotta make your goodbyes with your boyfriend faster. We’re late to pick up Mom.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she rolls her eyes. 

“Whatever,” Eric huffs. “You’re late.” 

MJ doesn’t say anything as they pull out of the school and head to Tammy’s work. Instead, she pulls out Eric’s aux cord and connects her own, receiving a whine from Eric. “I’ll just put on the radio.” 

They tune into a station mid-song. 

_Every move you make,_

_Every bond you break,_

_Every step you take,_

_I’ll be watching you._

Eric stops turns it off, preferring silence over their father’s favorite song. Silence looms over them, the rough gravel underneath the tires echoing louder than before. 

“Do you ever miss him?” Eric swallows, both hands still on the wheel. MJ turns, seeing her brother’s eyes glisten with the thought of their dad.

“Sometimes,” MJ answers truthfully. “I was at the football game and I thought of when we used to go before.” 

“He’d buy us extra candy and Mom would get mad at how energetic we’d be when we got home,” Eric smiles, MJ realizing it’s the first time she’s seen him smile in a long time. 

“We’d recreate the plays and end up tackling each other.”

“He’d narrate like the sports guy–”

“–And Eric scores the winning touchdown!” they both yell, laughter filling the silence that, only moments earlier, felt like dread. Both of them sigh, MJ running her fingers through the top of her head, recalling the number of times her dad would fix her hair after roughhousing with Eric. 

Silence comes through the car again, however, it’s less uncomfortable than before. Then Eric mentions, “And he’d always force us to watch episodes of _CSI._ ” 

There’s a reason why she loves reading true crime and mystery novels. “I loved that show.” 

“Only cause he put it on every day!” 

“Yeah,” she smiles. A beat. “I’m sorry we’re always fighting.” 

Eric’s lips tremble. He takes a sharp inhale through his nose. “Me too.” 

“We’re still probably going to fight.” 

“I know,” he uses his free arm to scruffle her hair. She slaps it off. 

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Mom?” she whispers. He nods his head, eyes scrunched at the impossibility of MJ ever doing something wrong. “I tried weed.”

He snorts. “And?” 

“It was so fucking scary, Eric.” He starts laughing harder, eyes crinkling the way each of the Jones’ eyes does. “Never again.” 

“Good,” he says, “you’re too much of a nerd to be doing that stuff.”

“Hey,” she frowns, playfully. Eric drives into a parking spot and turns off the engine, hopping out and pulling out an E-cigarette. “Did you tell Mom we’re here?” 

“Yup, she’s just talking to her boss,” he scrolls through his phone. MJ rolls down her window, propping her arm on the sill and looking at the building. It’s small and quaint, MJ remembering that Tammy mentioned its overpopulation and how they’re not getting help from the city to expand the place. She watches caretakers walk in and out of the double doors, anticipating Tammy’s exit until she witnesses a familiar face stroll out. 

Ned Leeds walks out, large boxes, and a paper bag in his arms, helping an older woman MJ assumes to be his mother. She’s carrying her lunch pail and more paper bags. Both of them appear to be struggling, MJ leaving the parking space to offer help. 

“MJ!” Ned smiles, handing her a couple of boxes after she lends a hand. “What are you doing here?” 

“My mom works here,” she follows Ned and his mom to their van, helping them load everything up. 

“Mine, too,” he gestures to his mom, a petite-looking woman around the same age as MJ’s mom. Mrs. Leeds’ smile warms her heart immediately, a presence so comforting that MJ feels like she helped raise her. “ _Nanay_ , this is MJ. From school. She’s new.” 

“Hi MJ,” she opens her arms for a hug, MJ feeling immediately nurtured that she walks into it willingly. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Leeds.” 

“Call me Tita,” she smiles. 

“Okay, Tita.” 

“ _Anak,_ why did you not tell me about her before?” Tita nudges Ned’s arms. _Magkamukha sya si_ Tammy.” She looks again at MJ. “Are you Tammy’s daughter?” 

“Yes,” MJ tucks her hair nervously. Tita cups her face and smiles.

“You’re very pretty.” MJ thanks her, blushing at the kindness of Ned’s mother. “You two and your brother should come to dinner someday.” 

“Mom,” Ned sputters. “Sorry, she asks that of all my friends.” 

“No, it’s okay,” MJ softens at the label she didn’t think she’d receive from Ned. “I’ll let my mom know.” 

“Thanks for helping,” Tita pats her shoulder, MJ towering over her so much that she needs to reach high. “Come on na, Ned. We need to pick up Nicole.” 

“My little sister,” Ned explains. “I’ll see you later, MJ!” 

“Bye,” she waves them off, walking back to the car – Tammy already in the driver’s seat with Eric claiming the passenger seat. MJ doesn’t mind, feeling as though she’s made a new friend and experienced a moment so touching with Ned’s mother. 

“You know him?” Tammy asks. 

“We’re in the Decathlon team together.” 

“His mother is the sweetest lady,” she responds. 

“She wants us over for dinner.” 

“We’ll make plans,” Tammy says. “How was your day at school sweetie?” 

MJ’s phone buzzes. 

**Peter:** since you’ve declared us friends… here’s a playlist of songs i’ve been wanting to show you. 

She smiles. “It was really good, Ma.” 

* * *

When Betty gets nominated for court that Friday, neither Cindy nor MJ are surprised as they applaud fiercely when her name is called out during lunch. She receives a paper crown and a poster with a pop culture-infused joke about being a princess, her smile beaming and eyes glistening with happiness. It’s like this is what she’s been waiting for since birth. 

Others are called, varying from the dance team or cheer squad, all of them claiming the seats with one princess left to be announced. 

“And the last princess is,” the homecoming committee coordinator speaks animatedly into the microphone, “Gwen Stacy!” 

There’s an uproar of clapping, louder than anyone announced prior received, MJ knowing it’s been expected of Gwen to be nominated, too. The way Gwen strolls into her seat and bends down for her poster and crown confirms that she was on the same boat as everyone else, understanding she’d be on court before she even heard her name. 

As the audience of senior lunch offers another round of applause for the princesses, they all have the same poise and waves. Midtown royalty. MJ keeps her jokes to herself knowing her friend is up there. She looks at each princess, all exchanging words with one another – all except for Gwen, who’s scanning the crowd, teeth flashing the room so specifically it almost looks practiced. MJ looks to her usual table, seeing only Harry, Ned, and Flash. 

Peter isn’t there. 

In fact, MJ can’t recall the last time she’s seen Peter at the cafeteria for lunch. 

Not that she’s been looking, or anything.

(But she totally has). 

* * *

MJ misses summer because all she did was work, and despite dreading the long shifts, she saved a significant amount of money _and_ had time to read for fun. 

But now, after five hours in the ice cream shop listening to Wayne talk about new marketing procedures to increase their customer visits for the winter, she has to go immediately into study mode, the SATs coming up in just two weeks. 

She clocks out, rejoicing in the freedom from the smell of heavy whipping cream and all kinds of dairy and pulling over a sweater to cover her ridiculous uniform. Although she’s free from the prison of a part-time, minimum-wage job, she heads straight to Alfie’s Bookstore – her backpack loaded with SAT study supplies.

MJ rushes into the store, her combat boots stomping on the floor as she quickly greets Alfie and runs up the stairs. She throws her backpack onto her favorite chair and pours her cup of coffee, a long day of studying ahead of her. She rips several packets of sugar, ensuring extra energy for her review. 

“Long day?” MJ jumps at his voice, spilling her entire cup coffee. 

“Shit,” she mumbles, pulling put napkins and wiping it along the oak counter where Alfie sets his complimentary drinks. 

“Sorry,” Peter laughs, heading towards the counter to help clean the table. “I didn’t think you’d jump like that.” 

MJ shrugs. “It’s you, so.”

There’s a tint of pink at the top of Peter’s ears. “Oh.” 

“You’re scary looking,” she adds. She earns a playful shove. “Why are you here on a Saturday?” 

“Why are _you_?” he returns.

“It’s my last chance to take the SAT in two weeks, and my mom won’t stop pestering me to get a score higher than 1320.” 

“That’s a good score,” he says.

“Not good enough if I want to go to Berkeley.” 

“But you have everything else to consider!” he says. “Have you been working on your apps?” 

“I haven’t even started.” 

“Me neither,” he laughs, “which is why I’m here.” 

“Did you take your SAT’s already? I assume you got a perfect score,” MJ says. 

Peter’s bashful, looking down at his fingers. She knew it. 

After pouring her second cup of joe and grabbing her Blue Book, she sits on the larger sofa next to Peter, making sure there’s a significant distance between their thighs as she leans against the arm closest to her. 

They study in the quiet of Alfie’s Bookstore, only hearing a scarce amount of exchanges with books and cash every hour. As time passes on and MJ uses her flashcards to review SAT vocabulary, reading, and re-reading definitions until she’s confident it’s engraved into her subconscious. Peter clacks away at his keyboard, mostly hitting delete and groaning every few hours about his personal statements. 

The dim lighting in the store grows brighter as the sun goes down, the open windows no longer letting natural light in. Alfie slides his hands up the staircase and smiles at the image of Peter’s head rested on the back of the couch, mouth open and eyes closed as if he’s never known sleep before. 

“My two favorite customers,” Alfie wakes Peter up, MJ laughing at the sudden jolt his body does. “We’re closing now.” 

“Thanks, Alfie,” Peter says, voice raspy and tired. It’s probably what waking up next to him in the morning sounds like. The two of them clean up their things, MJ tossing the fourth cup of coffee she drank that day, caffeine becoming a part of her bloodstream. 

They leave the bookstore as Alfie locks up, Peter letting MJ move in front of him to open the door. “Are you hungry?” 

MJ realizes she hasn’t eaten anything except for a banana before her shift at work, only surviving on sugary coffee. “I should probably eat _something_.” 

“Good, we should get pizza,” Peter says, bobbing his head toward his car before stopping. “I mean if that’s okay with you. If not, we don’t have to. I just figured that–” 

“Yes,” MJ interrupts his ramble. He smiles, a slight breath releasing from his throat. 

“Yes as in… let’s get pizza?” 

“Yeah,” MJ steps ahead of him, closer to his car. One deep breath prepares her to do the craziest thing she can think of, probably. “We can eat it at my house.” 

“Okay,” Peter answers with a slight timidness to his voice.   
  
  


They shuffle into MJ’s cramped house with a box of pepperoni pizza and a handful of pepper flakes packets. Peter drops their dinner on the table and removes his coat as MJ runs over to her mother’s futon in the living room, picking up her clothes – she must have rushed to work this evening. She picks up Tammy’s clothes, tucking them under the futon, and folds the blanket neatly on top.

“MJ,” Peter tries to grab her attention, but he doesn’t stop her flow of cleaning up. “Em.” 

She stops in the middle of grabbing old napkins from the coffee table. “My house is a mess.”

“It feels like a home,” he says, arm gesturing for her to come forward to the kitchen. She follows, taking only a few steps to get there – the living room and kitchen connected with an open floor. 

Over dinner, MJ talks about their living arrangement with Tammy in the living room because up the stairs, there are only two bedrooms and one bathroom. Her nerves strike her like lightning knowing that the two Midtown students’ houses she’s been to are more than twice the size of her own, Peter’s place most likely similar to Betty’s and Felicia’s. 

He probably thinks her home is a hellhole. 

“We all have to make do with what we have,” Peter grabs a third slice of pizza from the box. “I understand.” 

“You do?” she picks at the uneaten crust on her plate. 

Peter shifts in his seat, a look of contemplation in his head. “My aunt and I moved to an apartment a few years ago because renting anything bigger was over our budget since it’s just me and her.”

He does understand. 

MJ’s eyes fill with uncontrollable sorrow and guilt for assuming Peter’s background. He looks down at his half-eaten slice, wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin. “I’m stuffed. I don’t think I can finish this slice.” 

She doesn’t want him to leave – she wants to hear more about him if he lets her. “Do you want to see something cool?” 

His face perks up. “Sure.” 

MJ leads Peter into her room, cheeks burning red hot as she opens the door. Luckily, she’s adamant about making her bed every morning. 

“Wow,” he says. “Lots of posters. Your room is cool!” 

“That’s not what I was talking about,” she laughs, walking in but realizing Peter’s still at the doorway. She heads to her window, lifting it open before looking at him and bobbing her head to the roof. “Come on.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, dork,” she laughs. He walks forward slowly, taking in his surroundings and observing each poster and photo frame, the smile on his face that MJ likes so much. When he crawls through the window, she scoots over on the tiles to make room for him. “I’m out here a lot.” 

“I would be, too.” Peter lays back comfortably, arms stretched behind his head like he’s relaxing at the beach on a hot summer day. 

“It’s a nice place to just think,” MJ explains, “which I never stop doing. It’s gotten a lot more hectic in my head since… since everything.” 

“My brains always wired,” Peter agrees. “Sometimes, there’s so much going on in there, I can’t even explain it. So I don’t.” 

Something in MJ’s brain clicks, completely accepting Peter’s words as a foundation for the way he carries himself because–not knowing why she didn’t realize it before–she and he are more alike than when they had their first shift at Utterly Ice Cream together. It’s the reason why she pulls to Peter like a magnet, why she’s so willing to open herself up. “I see.” 

Several beats of silence pass through them, MJ trying to find the Little Dipper in the clear autumn sky. “My parents died when I was three.” 

Immediately, she turns to him. Peter’s arms are still relaxed and his body isn’t tense, as if he’s told this story several times before, and he’s desensitized to the words that leave his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t get to _really_ know them. But May tells me all the time how wonderful they are, and how funny my dad was. I guess I get my humor from him.” 

“Was he May’s brother?” 

“No. I’m not related to May by blood. My dad and Uncle Ben were brothers.” Peter chokes up at the mention of Ben, MJ recalling his mention of only living with May. She doesn’t bring it up, knowing that mended things can still be cracked. 

“May sounds amazing,” she says. “I could already feel it when I met her in the summer.” 

“She is.” MJ can hear the smile in his voice. “You remind me of her sometimes.” 

“I remind you of your aunt?” she tries not to deflate her voice. 

“I know it sounds weird, but you’re both the most honest people I’ve ever known. Even if it hurts.” 

Her past worries fizzle out, knowing that – with everything Peter has mentioned about her – he holds her to high regard, and MJ’s at an inexplicable level of awe knowing that Peter is reminded of May when they’re around each other. “It’s not weird.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “Do you ever feel like you’ve grown up a certain way, but everyone around you doesn’t understand?” 

She thinks of Liz and how they’ve always flowed together from the start. “Not until I moved here.” 

Peter laughs. “Jericho sucks. And so does Midtown.” 

“True, but…” she trails off. “What makes you think that?” 

He takes a moment to answer. “It’s just… May’s always taught me to love and to let people know it.” Peter gets up from his relaxed position, shifting his body to face MJ. “But I feel like it’s not enough for some people.”

MJ swallows. “Like Gwen?” 

“We broke up again,” Peter clears his throat. “I broke up with her.” 

“Oh,” she breathes. 

“I always do, but then somehow I go back because…” he sighs. “I don’t even know why. I don’t think I love her because… because it’s hard for me to say it when I look at her. And she’s never satisfied with what I do. She wants so much from me and,” His lips tremble. “And I don’t think I can give it to her.” 

From those few sentences, MJ thinks, Gwen and Peter are not meant to love each other. She doesn’t say it out loud, only nodding at Peter’s explanation. “You deserve someone who loves you the way you want them to. The way you can.” 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I just wish I didn’t waste my time.” 

“It’s not time wasted if you’ve learned more about yourself and how you want to be loved.” 

He exhales, sharp and refined. “How are you so smart?” 

“I read,” she shrugs. “And I’ve seen love unfold when people don’t align with one another.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Let’s stop saying sorry about things out of our control,” MJ pulls out a pinky. “Okay?” 

He loops his pinky around hers. “Deal.” 

Their pinkies still linked, Peter looks into MJ’s eyes, a soft twinkle in the corner. “Your hands are cold.” 

He scoots closer, cupping his hands around MJ’s, his palms warming up hers. She brings her body closer, their foreheads almost touching. His lips look wet and glossed in the moonlight.

Peter’s phone rings. They both scoot away from each other hastily. “Hey May.” 

MJ releases her breath. Holding herself in her arms, mind hazy from what could have been.

“I’ll come home now. Love you,” he hangs up, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should go.” 

She wishes he could stay. 

“Okay.” 

A piece of her heart rips for the moment lost.


	2. part four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why isn’t it?” he probes. “Is it cause you like Parker so much?” 
> 
> “I don’t… I don’t like him.”
> 
> “That’s a lie,” he chuckles.
> 
> It is. 
> 
> “Don’t worry,” Harry nearly whispers again in that same tone of voice that amplifies his air of coolness. “I won’t tell him or anything.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a spoiler, but I feel like I should definitely warn people that there's a car accident scene in here (but no one gets injured). A lot of what's talked about in this chapter is also a bit heavy and I've listed the tags up above.
> 
> Enjoy.

Just from Monday alone, MJ realizes that Midtown’s Homecoming Spirit Week makes the classrooms overflow with indigestible school pride, hallways bleeding with blue and gold and tiger stripes as MJ attempts to wade through the crowds discussing homecoming dates, color-coordinated dresses, or where to gather for photos. Uncontrollably, MJ can’t help but feel left out from the buzz of the days leading up to the dance, making her push through the throng of chatter with the strong desire of not wanting to be in earshot of anyone talking about homecoming. 

Though she didn’t necessarily want to attend Midtown’s Saturday night event, hearing different groups engage in the excitement of the dance makes her think about how she’ll be missing Belmont’s homecoming, how she’ll be missing the moment Liz undoubtedly gets crowned homecoming queen, and most importantly, staying up all night at her best friend’s house and endlessly chatting about the drama that unfolded throughout the night. 

Her phone call with Liz over the weekend had been the first one since school started, MJ discussing every small detail from the first confusing and frightening day at Midtown to the event that made MJ call her best friend in complete panic mode. 

_“You and Peter_ what _?”_ Liz gasped over the phone, MJ perfectly picturing her wide eyes as if they were having the conversation in person.

“Almost kissed,” MJ repeated, not holding back from the wide grin spread across her face while she laid in bed after walking Peter out of the door. “Almost.” 

“ _Wow,_ ” her best friend whispered through the phone. “ _Only one month at Midtown and you’re already getting comfortable with the guy you said you’d stop talking to.”_

There was an underlying tone hidden beneath the surface of Liz’s sentence, something MJ has always been able to tell, and being states away from each other hadn’t made any difference. MJ tried to ignore the deep-seated guilt bubbling at the pit of her gut knowing that her best friend meant well, that she probably just missed her voice and wanted to talk about something else other than Peter. 

But the attempt didn’t last for long, MJ scoffing through the phone speaker and uttering words she already wanted to take back while saying them. “Phones work both ways, Liz.” 

_“What are you talking about?”_

“I’m saying, if you’re so upset that I haven’t called you in a month, phone calls work both ways.” 

“ _I wasn’t even talking about that.”_

“But I know you wanted to, and I know you’re hiding it behind the fact that I’m talking about a boy. Which is stupid because it’s not a big deal.”

“ _MJ, it’s the only thing you ever want to talk to me about.”_

The line fell silent, but the sound of guilt ringing in MJ’s ears was deafening. A part of her knew that their conversations were oversaturated with the mention of Peter, but the other part of MJ – the part that feeds into her knack of unfiltered one-liners – was upset at the fact that Liz, who was supposed to be her best friend, made her feel guilty for talking about something she really cared about. 

And she really did care about Peter, cared enough to call her best friend in full-blown excitement about how close she had been to pressing her lips onto his. Now, however, she felt defeated with the frustrations of the phone call washing away the glitter and gold tingle in her stomach. 

“ _L_ _ook MJ,”_ Liz interrupts her train of thought, “ _all I’m saying is… everything that has happened between you and Peter doesn’t add up. Or at least it’s not looking to be a very smooth train. He’s made you upset more than he has happy, and he tries to kiss you after opening up to you about breaking up with his girlfriend?”_

She had a point. Liz always had a point. But right now, MJ didn’t want to hear the cons of almost kissing Peter, of almost getting her (real) first kiss in general. MJ wanted to be excited, she was allowed to be excited, and she wasn’t going to let anyone – not even her best friend’s rationale – stop her from feeling that way.

“I have to go,” MJ said, sitting up from her bed and ready to end the phone call. 

“ _MJ_ ,” Liz said softly, offering a trying fight. 

“I just don’t want to hear it right now, okay?” 

_“You have to listen to it sometime,”_ Liz says. “ _I’ll talk to you later, I guess.”_

MJ ended the call, shutting her eyes to try to get rid of the overflow of mixed emotions regarding what almost happened between her and Peter, wanting to go back to the seconds leading up to it, but being unable to because Liz made her way into MJ’s conscience, picking at every detail of what happened. The moment had been tainted with overthinking and analysis already.

So she didn’t text him the following day, ignoring his name like the plague, and walking different routes to her locker so she couldn’t risk the chances of running into him during passing period. 

When MJ arrives at her locker, with four minutes to spare before AP Government, she’s not surprised when she sees Harry, arms crossed and leaning against his locker like he’d been waiting for her to show up.

“Harry,” she greets him the same was she always does: with a sharp voice and no desire to have a conversation. Though he had slowly become more tolerable as the weeks went on, MJ doing her best to get rid of the persona she had created for him the first day they met, she had no intentions of getting closer to him knowing he’s been Gwen’s best friend since childhood as well as the fact that he eagerly dropped information about her and Peter the first time he ever spent more than five minutes around MJ. 

“Heard from the grapevine that you’re not going to the dance this Saturday,” he says. 

“Nope,” she tucks in her calculus binder into the locker, switching it out for her government book. She shuts her locker, turning to face Harry. “But I’m sure you are?” 

“Why aren’t you going?” Harry has a habit of that – of never responding to anything that MJ says, only furthering the script he has in his own head for what he wants the conversation to be. Luckily, MJ didn’t pay mind to it much because Harry Osborn isn’t exactly the person she’s dying to talk to every day. 

His prying hadn’t been the first of its kind with Cindy and Betty still questioning MJ’s reluctance to attend homecoming and Felicia and Brad trying to convince her to go so she could join them on making fun of the rest of the high school population. But she had no reason for not going, just that she didn’t particularly _want_ to, especially because the person she’d want there wouldn’t be going anyway, from what she heard. 

“I’m not a fan of dancing,” she shrugs, finally heading down the hall to her class.

“Bummer. I was going to ask if you wanted to go with our group,” he says.

MJ nearly stops in her tracks but continues because she refuses to be late to Mr. Bishop’s class, knowing he keeps a detailed record of tardies. “If I did go to the dance, I would go with Betty and Cindy’s group. I don’t even know your friends.”

“They don’t bite,” he defends them – something MJ noticed he does constantly, which she guesses is a good quality of a friend, but he does it with such emphasis that she wonders if he’s hiding something behind his words.

“But I still don’t know them, Harry,” she states in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“You know more of the people I’m going with than you think,” he continues with a chuckle that confirms there’s something he’s hiding. “And if you don’t think you do, I’d still save you a dance.” 

She shakes her head at his naturally cool and suggestive tone, ready to respond with a voice of sarcasm she hopes Harry’s not too oblivious to understand. “Too bad I’m not going.”

“I wish you were,” he returns, almost in passing, walking away from her as she opens the classroom door. 

MJ pretends not to notice the slight twist in her stomach and the slight burn at the tip of her ears after what Harry had said. 

* * *

“What do you think?” Betty walks out of her walk-in closet wearing a blush pink dress with a heart-shaped cut, tulle material falling just right above her knees. 

She had begged MJ and Cindy to come over after school, panicking about her outfit choices for not just the dance but also the pep rally on Friday. MJ, who has gotten used to making herself comfortable on Betty’s queen-sized bed, moves into an upright position to fully analyze the dress – though she thought Betty didn’t need approval from anyone else to wear a dress she wanted to wear. 

“You’re going to give the homecoming court a run for their money,” MJ smirks, bouncing her eyebrows in encouragement for the outfit.

“Agreed,” Cindy says, pacing the room with her hand rubbing her chin, deep in thought. “How are you going to do your makeup?” 

“I have no idea,” Betty sighs, sounding tired of the process. “And this is only my Friday dress.” 

“I can’t believe you have to buy multiple dresses,” MJ says, trying to save herself from sounding too appalled knowing that Betty enjoys doing this because Betty can afford the two dresses.

“And an outfit for Flash’s party,” Cindy reminds Betty. She groans, dragging her feet into the closet to showcase Dress #2. 

“Flash is throwing a party?” MJ asks. 

“Every year he does one,” Cindy explains. “Only our class gets invited too. His house is huge.” 

MJ’s not surprised. Whose house _isn’t_ unnecessarily big in this town?

Hers, and from what he said before, Peter’s. 

Which reminds her that she hadn’t told anyone, aside from Liz, what happened on Saturday.

“You could probably go to the after-party,” Betty says, walking out in Dress #2, a taupe colored silk dress with spaghetti straps with a fur coat to match. She spins twice, giving Cindy and MJ the full view. 

“Stunning,” Cindy applauds and MJ joins her. “Ned’s not going to know what hit him.”

“ _Ned_?” MJ gasps. “Leeds?” 

She notices the visible pink glazed on Betty’s cheekbones. “Yes, Ned Leeds.” 

“When was I going to learn about this?!” MJ jumps out of the bed, making her way closer to Cindy and Betty, who were fighting their internal squeals of excitement. 

“He just asked me today,” Betty explains. “We have calc together… and I don’t know, we were always kind of on good terms. Like you know when you have lots of classes with someone, and they start to become familiar?” 

“Ned is Betty’s classroom sweetheart,” Cindy cuts Betty’s explanation short, earning a slight punch from Betty. “You can’t deny the truth, babe.” 

“Shut up,” Betty shakes her head. “I had kind of been hinting that I wanted a date for a few weeks now.”

Suddenly, as Betty babbles on about Ned asking her, something in MJ’s brain clicks as she remembers when Betty explained she had her eyes on someone during lunch as she glanced over to Peter’s table, finally realizing that she had been looking at Ned the entire time. And quickly after that thought registers, MJ takes herself back to the way Harry had been snickering at her reluctance to go with his group earlier that day, now understanding that their groups were to merge with one another.

“–didn’t do it in a spectacular way, but I don’t really expect that from anyone because I don’t want to be flashy or obvious.” 

“You? Not be flashy?” Cindy jokes. 

“Shut up, Cind.”

“That’s cute,” MJ adds a late response. “So you’re going with their group?”

Cindy and Betty fall silent, shrugging, while Betty starts, “It’s weird.” 

“The only thing we have in common with them is Academic Decathlon,” Cindy rolls her eyes. “But Harry’s offering his house and his driver, so we really can’t pass up the opportunity.”

MJ smiles at their explanation, accepting the fact that her two closest friends in Midtown are attending the stupid school dance with the group that they had warned her about on the first week of school which, of course, they would. She’s speedily growing accustomed to the idea that anyone in Midtown, even Betty and Cindy, will do anything to hitch a ride in Harry Osborn’s car and take pictures with a group that’s defined their entire class.

She refrains from making a comment, not wanting to ruin the enjoyable relationship she’s built with the two girls, knowing that if she were to be honest about how ridiculous she found this entire situation, they’d want to cut their hangout short. 

However, she thinks of Felicia and Brad, whose intentions are to laugh at the stereotypical occurrences at the dance, and suddenly has a strong desire to go just for that reason – just to watch the event unfold in the perspectives of the two people she could relate to the most in terms of people-watching.

When MJ’s alarm for 4 interrupts Betty and Cindy’s overcompensating explanation as to why they’re attending the dance with _that_ group, she packs up her backpack and mentally prepares herself for the closing shift at the ice cream shop.

“I can drop you off,” Betty offers from the closet, already changing back into her Adidas tracksuit. “And you, too, Cindy.” 

“Thanks,” MJ obliges.

Once she’s clocked in at work, Danny bolting out of the glass doors as soon as she punches in her employee number into the system and leaving her to work with a new employee. Justin, a fresh college graduate trying to make money while looking for a full-time job, tries to make conversation with MJ the entire time, chatting on about the parties he and his housemates would throw in their little apartment. But she can’t seem to shake her mind off homecoming, something tugging at her stomach telling her to go and witness whatever the hell would happen. 

Except she refuses to go with the same group she told Harry she’d go with, embarrassed with how adamant she was about only going with Betty and Cindy. 

The store is slow that day, only three customers walking in within two hours, wasting MJ’s time as she accrues the minimum wage dollars by standing there and doing nothing when she could be reading, studying for the SAT, or doing the chemistry homework that she’d have to stay up late tonight for. 

Then again, MJ laughs at herself thinking about how she hasn’t picked up her book in a few days, she’s behind on writing flashcards for SAT vocabulary, and she doesn’t even know what chapter they’re on now for chemistry. 

Her mind had been elsewhere, thinking of the dance, of her friends, of Peter. 

And she can’t seem to think about anything else. 

* * *

**_GROUP MESSAGE: Felicia Hardy, Brad Davis_ **

**Felicia:** so ur gonna go?!!

 **Brad:** what are you wearing? the three of us should all coordinate colors and take bomb ass photos 

**Felicia:** brad that’s all u ever care about

 **Brad:** are you surprised? 

**Felicia:** we’re wearing all black like we always do 

**Felicia:** just in case u wanna go along with our theme, mj ;)

 **MJ:** All black. Got it. 

**Felicia:** youre gonna have so much fun with us, promise

 **Brad:** ^^^^ RT RT 

* * *

“Ma, how was your day?” MJ butters Tammy up before letting her know she’d changed her mind about the dance, having purchased her tickets earlier that morning – spending $30 on the last tier because she hadn’t bought the early bird ones. 

Tammy takes a spoonful of mac n cheese in her mouth, pondering the question. “It was alright. Ms. Carter’s niece, Sharon, visited her today, which went well until she asked what her name was. Sometimes witnessing moments like that is hard to swallow.”

Her mom continues to discuss the particular poignancy of working in geriatrics, the conversation taking a rather low energy turn than MJ had planned. Tammy dives deep into stories of research she’s done about the field she’s working in, something that MJ doesn’t want to interrupt because she hasn’t seen her mother passionate about a topic like that in a while. In fact, she doesn’t remember her mother being strongly passionate about anything since… ever.

And then it dawns on her that there isn’t much that she knows about Tammy, aside from what she witnesses her do as a mother – the strange realization hitting her that her mother had an entire life before she and Eric were born, that after taking that first breath as a baby, a parent’s life really takes a 180 because they have to raise an entire human being, maybe even more if they’re ambitious. 

MJ allows those thoughts to simmer in her brain, promising to take note of that recognition moving forward, promising to learn more about her mother and ask her about her own life outside of being a mother because she knows damn well that having a child is not the only task a woman has in her life. 

“What about you, hon, how was your day?”

“It was fine,” she answers flatly, taking another big scoop of mac n cheese from the center of the table. Eric laughs. “What, doofus?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs. 

“Anyway,” MJ rolls her eyes. “I’m going to Homecoming.” 

Eric nearly spits out his water. Tammy’s eyebrows lift with interest. 

“What?” MJ asks, a mouthful of elbow pasta in her mouth.

“Swallow your food before talking, MJ.” 

She chews and swallows. “What?”

“You’d been talking about how you didn’t want to go to homecoming since the school started selling tickets, and now you want to go?”

“Minds can change.” 

“What dude is making you want to suddenly go?” Eric jokes. 

“I would never do anything for a _dude_ ,” MJ spits. “I’m going with my friends.” 

“Mrs. Brant told me Betty’s going with a big group? Are you going with them?” 

MJ takes a deep breath, preparing for the abundance of questions Tammy’s about to ask when she answers. “No. I’m going with other friends. Felicia and Brad.”

“You’ve never mentioned them before,” Tammy places her fork down carefully. MJ’s eyes shift to Eric, who looks shell-shocked from the mention of two new names. 

“Felicia’s my lab partner in chem.” 

“And Brad?” 

“Brad is her best friend. They’re on the dance team.” 

“Is it like a group thing?” 

“No, they’ll just be picking me up.” 

“They’re driving?” Tammy raises her eyebrows. 

“They have licenses, Ma. And I’ll sleep over Felicia’s after homecoming.”

“Sleepover?” her mother reacts as if MJ’s broken one of the ten commandments. “I don’t know Felicia.” 

“Ma, calm down. She’s seventeen, not twelve,” Eric, to MJ’s surprise, defends her. 

“Her SAT is in a week _and_ Felicia’s a stranger. And she doesn’t even have a dress.”

“Stop talking about her like she’s not here,” he says, something about the way he’d interjected tugs on her heartstrings, thinking back to their car ride the week before and how they hadn’t had a bad argument since then, though MJ knows and fears that she knows their relationship won’t remain this calm.

“I was going to go to the mall after dinner,” MJ adds. “I have money saved.” 

“And how are you going to get there?” her mother continues adding on questions like MJ had expected.

He huffs. “I’ll drive you there, MJ.”

“Thanks,” MJ pulls her lips slightly as she picks on the elbows left scattered on her plate, hiding her intense elation from Eric addressing her by the nickname she had given herself. 

Their car ride to the mall is silent, both of them opting out of the radio, too afraid to risk the chance of hearing another song that reminds them of their father. Although MJ knows it would be unlikely to happen again, she doesn’t mind the sound of worn out tires trudging through the uneven roads. 

When he pulls up to the entrance of the food court, MJ thanks him quickly before opening the door to hop out. “Yo, MJ?” 

“Yeah?” she turns around. 

“Don’t be out too late. I got classes tomorrow.” 

“You started classes?” she asks. 

“Yeah, I did this week,” he mumbles. “Guess I can do something right.” 

A beat. Guilt is a feeling she’s been familiar with this entire week. “I’ll be quick, Eric.” 

“Alright,” he says, gesturing her to close the door and driving off as soon as she does. 

Less than an hour into her mini shopping spree, MJ remembers the reason why she hates the mall, why she hates going into stores and trying new clothes, looking at herself in the mirror and not feeling like she even looked real, but not unreal. Just not there, like she’s unable to feel real in any fabric she tries on, her noodle arms dangling with zero confidence at her sides. 

She rushes through her second and third stores, finding a simple, chiffon black dress that went down to her feet. After sending a message to Felicia and receiving an immediate affirmation, she purchases her way out of the misery of dress shopping. 

As she heads out of the store, before turning the corner to enter the hallway that led to the restroom, she hears a familiar voice bickering at someone, a voice of an Academic Decathlon captain. She stops moving, leaning her back against the wall.

“I told you, Gwen, I can’t go to homecoming,” Peter sighs, exasperated and tired. “You know Aunt May said…”

“You’ve literally snuck out so many times before, Pete. And you choose homecoming of all nights to listen to her?” 

“It’s more than just listening to her. You _know_ why I can’t go. I thought you’d understand.” 

“I do understand. But it’s–”

“But nothing, Gwen. I didn’t even come here to meet you about this. And you listen to your dad all the time when he tells you to break up with me.” 

Gwen has nothing to say. MJ holds her breath as if the world around her fell quiet. 

“So it’s real this time? You don’t love me anymore?”

MJ decides to walk away after the question, knowing she definitely shouldn’t have listened at all, more guilt bubbling up inside her as she ruffles her bag and starts heading in the direction she came from, forgetting she had to use the restroom in the first place, almost dialing Eric’s number until she hears Peter call her.

“MJ?” She scrunches her face in defeat, hoping she wasn’t caught eavesdropping. She takes a deep breath and turns to face him with a smile she most definitely would never wear if not for the awkward situation she found herself in.

“Hey, Parker,” she tries her best to relax her voice, to lower it from the unnaturally high octave she nearly forced out. 

“Late night shopping?” he asks, hand moving to run through his hair and rub the back of his neck. 

“Uh, yeah. I bought a dress,” she gestures to her paper bag. “Homecoming, you know.” 

“Oh,” he smiles. “I thought you weren’t going?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t.” She bounces on the balls of her feet, feeling awkward as ever, not wanting to spew out word vomit like she usually does when she’s around Peter. “I figured it’s my last chance to be a typical high schooler at a dance, so.” 

“There’s still prom,” Peter jokes. 

“Yeah, if my sanity makes it to prom.” 

He laughs, his attitude different from when she had heard him talking to Gwen. “You’ll make it. I hope you have fun at the dance.” 

“Thanks,” she says. A beat. Guilt, guilt everywhere. She breathes in the stuffy smell of retail before spilling the truth. “Peter, I heard something back there… and I… are you okay?”

“I figured you heard,” he reveals. “I’m.. I’m okay. Honestly.” 

She wants to tell him _fuck Gwen_ for making him feel shitty like she always does, but it would be wrong to make a statement without really hearing her side of the story – without understanding what could have caused the ill feelings undercutting their relationship when they started realizing they weren’t as compatible as they thought they would be. 

MJ doesn’t waste her energy on hating people. She likes to be neutral, wanting to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, especially when it comes to deep feelings. Anyone’s feelings are valid. Unless you’re racist, sexist, homophobic, and all of the other labels that immediately put someone under MJ’s blacklist. 

And as far as she knows, Gwen’s none of that. 

“MJ?” he asks again, snapping her back to reality. She looks up, eyes ready to listen to Peter. “About last weekend…” 

Something in her wants him to keep talking, wants to know how he feels about their kiss, wants to hear him say that he felt the same way she did after – that he couldn’t stop smiling on the way home, that he couldn’t stop thinking about her in everything that he sees, that even when his mind should be focused in the present moment, all he could think about was her. 

If only in her dreams that were true, MJ knowing that what Peter’s going through is enough, that she shouldn’t burden him with her ridiculous feelings of… whatever it is… and make life harder for him. So she stops Peter before he can start. 

“Just forget it happened,” she says, her knuckles tightening around the handles of her paper bag.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Okay, yeah. I can, yeah. That’s fine.”

“I know you have a lot going on, and I was just being stupid, you know?” she keeps going, not knowing when to stop. 

“Right,” he chuckles, though his laugh doesn’t sound happy at all. “We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.” 

“I’m good with that,” she lies, her heart shattering by the minute. 

“I, uh…” he shuffles, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I hope you have a good time at homecoming, MJ.” 

“Thanks,” she smiles. “I hope you have a good time, _not_ at homecoming.” 

His eyes glimmer with a shine that MJ knows has a story behind it, his look capturing euphoric nostalgia mixed with sadness. It’s a look that MJ has read about in so many novels, a look that wants to say something more. 

But MJ doesn’t ask, and she feels as though they’re back to square one, as they were in the summer except, maybe, they’ve taken more steps back – MJ not wanting to say anything more about herself either. 

The misfortune of a shift in their relationship within just a week makes MJ want to pull her hair out. But she takes a deep breath again, remembering why she was at the mall, remembering that she’s creating her life outside of worrying about Peter constantly the way that Liz had accused her of doing. 

“I should go,” she says. “My brother’s supposed to pick me up soon.”

“Right,” he responds, MJ hoping he’d offer her a ride home because it had become somewhat of a routine, them running into each other and Peter taking her back to her house as they listen to music she picks specifically knowing Peter would like it. 

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he offers a weak wave of the arm before turning the other way, the crowded sea of late-night shoppers feeling emptier than ever.

* * *

The rally and the football game fly by, a weight of sadness pressing down on MJ’s shoulder, putting her entire body and soul into trying to forget about Peter, to forget about the kiss that never happened and the relationship that will never come into fruition.

She silently thanks the universe that for whatever reason, Aunt May didn’t let Peter attend homecoming because the moment MJ steps foot into Felicia’s yard, both she and Brad flail their arms in the air in what feels like awe for the way MJ looks in her dress.

“You look fucking good,” Felicia says, pulling her into a hug as she bounces with glee. 

“So good,” Brad agrees, turning Felicia’s hug into a group hurdle. “Tonight’s gonna be exciting.” 

“First,” Felicia puts her hand on his chest, stopping him from walking towards the car. “MJ, can you snap a few pics of me and Brad?” 

“Oh, you’re right. Mom’s going to want to see me and my _date,_ ” he emphasizes with a snort. 

“Grab my ass so that it looks real,” she presses a hand on his chest, MJ laughing at their performance. 

“I’m not sending Mama Davis a picture of me grabbing your ass,” he argues. 

“At least _look_ like you want to be next to me,” Felicia lifts up one heel. 

“Fine,” he squeezes his hand on her waist, a big smile beaming into the camera as MJ snaps multiple photos. 

“I think I got a few good ones,” she hands the phone back to Felicia. 

“Wait, wait,” Felicia hands it back. “Can you take some solos of me?” 

“Are you gonna send them to Harry?” 

“I don’t care about Harry,” she huffs. “Except that he’s going to regret being Gwen’s date for tonight.” 

MJ nearly drops Felicia’s iPhone 11+. “What?” 

“Yup,” Brad says, arms crossed next to MJ. 

“He said she asked because she has no one to walk her out onto the dance floor when they announce Homecoming Queen,” Felicia explains. “And I don’t care.”

“Sure,” Brad says. 

“I don’t! Harry and I are not a thing,” she says again, this time with a conviction that MJ’s falls into. 

“You deserve better than Harry Osborn anyway,” MJ tries to make her feel better, knowing she has no idea what she’s really talking about since she’s only scratched the surface of who Harry is as a person.

“I deserve myself,” she shrugs, delivering one more striking pose before holding her hand out for her phone. “I wish we could take a picture of all of us.” 

“Is no one home?” MJ asks though she regrets it immediately when Felicia answers.

“No one’s ever home. Mommy and Daddy are in New York for the weekend at a medical conference.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Felicia switches to the front camera on her phone, snapping selfies. “We get to have an after, after party when we leave Flash’s.” The three of them make their way to Brad’s car. “Which will be ASAP because I can’t stand most people that are there anyway.”

“And she doesn’t care about Harry,” Brad interjects teasingly, unlocking the doors.

“And I don’t care about Harry,” Felicia repeats with a sense of pride as she gets into the passenger seat of the car.

Brad speeds through the highway, reaching the Midtown High ten minutes faster than Google Maps’ estimated time of arrival. They get to campus thirty minutes after the gymnasium doors opened, the line already wrapping around the building. 

“Do you think we’re going to make it before the Homecoming court walks out?” MJ asks, lifting her head over the sea of teenagers as if it’d help her decipher how long it would take the trio to make it to the entrance. She taps the heel of her combat boots incessantly, anxious that she’d miss Betty’s walkout picturing the face Betty had made when she confessed to buying a ticket to homecoming but not attending the dance with her or Cindy.

MJ cringes at the memory of her own response, realizing that it had come off ruder than she even intended it and cringing even harder that she didn’t apologize for the slight air of attitude that she gave off. 

Betty and Cindy looked at her the day before, right after Betty had finished dancing with the other princesses at the pep rally, with complete excitement at the prospect of MJ’s homecoming attendance until their faces fell when she mentioned the names Felicia and Brad.

“You don’t wanna go with us?” Cindy frowned as she begged the question and, her reaction is completely rhetorical and voice tinged with slight annoyance. 

She shrugged, the way she always did when she didn’t exactly feel the need to explain herself. “I don’t really want to be in a homecoming group with someone who campaigns for everyone to call him Flash.” 

Cindy had opened her mouth and closed it, refusing to say another word on the subject matter while Betty kept her eyes down on her lunch tray, her silence spreading guilt into MJ’s stomach until her next words catalyzed the feeling. “I didn’t know you were even close to Felicia.” 

The way Betty’s lip twitched slightly nearly made MJ return her ticket on the spot. “I’ll be there in time for the walkout. You know I wouldn’t miss that.” 

Betty’s small pull of the lips after MJ’s promise only makes the line feel more eternal than it probably is with 45 minutes left until the princesses make their debut and the Queen is crowned. 

“We’re going to get inside eventually, MJ, you can stop shaking your foot now,” Felicia nearly hisses. 

“I just want to get in before the court is announced, you know.” 

“Me too,” Brad says as the two girls tilt their heads at his unexpected anticipation of the walkout, “I want to judge all of their dresses like it’s Miss Universe.”

“They’re all from Macy’s, and not designer,” Felicia snorts, MJ knowing that Betty had dropped a lot of her (parents’) money to find the perfect homecoming dress. God only knows how expensive she’ll be willing to go for prom. 

“I just want to support Betty,” MJ shrugs. 

“Don’t worry – we’ll be able to see little miss blondie when we get in there.” Felicia pats down the creases of her velvet black dress, the fabric clinging onto the curves of her body. 

As promised, the trio heads into the gymnasium in the knick of time, the head of the homecoming committee making his way to the stage to introduce each princess and their date. The first princess was Sally, who MJ recalls from the night she had spent at Felicia’s, walking out with someone from the basketball team. Two girls from the cheer squad followed her, MJ only knowing the clique they’re from because of Brad’s detailed explanation of who they were and why they were most likely voted – as well as his personal commentary on their dresses. 

Felicia, bored of the introductions, rests her chin on MJ’s shoulder, her heels being the only reason why Felicia had towered over MJ for the night. She let her arms fall to her sides, yawning loud enough for MJ to understand that it was out of irritation and boredom rather than exhaustion. 

Second to last was the captain, Ms. Gwen Stacy, walking out with Harry. As soon as they stepped foot into the spotlight, arms linked around each other’s, MJ felt Felicia’s had intertwined with hers – squeezing it in a way that MJ knew she was asking for comfort. MJ had known it was an inevitable reaction from the way Felicia had repeatedly stressed her indifference about the homecoming dates. 

MJ squeezed back as she watched Gwen flash her pearly whites to the crowd, her hair falling in perfect curls and her lavender dress falling gracefully to the ground which, despite the fact that long dresses are usually reserved for prom, looked so natural on Gwen that she made everyone look like they dressed down rather than her overdressing.

A touch of envy boils inside MJ.

She tries to push it down knowing it’s unnecessary jealousy that, according to her mother, would never push her further in life. But with being only 17, MJ can’t help but laugh when Felicia whispers cruel words that she knew Gwen didn’t deserve, knowing that if she learned someone had said the same thing about her, she’d go home and never go back to school.

However, the guilt in her mind for the surprisingly savage thoughts inside her head was immediately washed away the moment Betty strolls into the gymnasium with Ned, the spotlight shining on them and the thunderous sounds of applause cracking among the audience. 

“Leeds and Brant?” Felicia nearly yelled, automatically bringing her hands together to follow the sounds of excitement. “That’s so disgustingly cute I’m going to cry.”

MJ smiles, eyes following the way Ned spins her around once and presents her to the crowd, letting her hands go to use both his arms as a way to show her off as they introduced themselves. The grin on Betty’s face was bright, though she wasn’t much focused on the applause but rather the boy who extended his hand to escort her back to the lineup of princesses anticipating whoever was going to get the crown.

“And the homecoming queen is,” the announcer reads as the crowd creates a low volume drum roll, “Gwen Stacy!” 

The other girls applaud and accept their defeat gracefully, all of them huddling around Gwen and cheering her on after she receives her crown. After a shared group hug, the other girls walk down the stage first, leaving Gwen to bask in the reverie coming from her peers – save for Felicia, MJ, and Brad who made their way to an empty table as soon as Harry and Gwen found themselves on the dance floor, forced to slow dance because of the ridiculous rules of a homecoming. 

Felicia’s back faces the two as she blows on her fingertips like she’s still drying out her nail polish, Brad placing one hand on her shoulder in comfort, and MJ excusing herself to see Betty and Cindy at their table. 

“Hey,” she says as she approaches them with their dates Ned and Abe venting about the inaccuracies of hacker-themed movies – a genre MJ didn’t even know would exist. The two weren’t cold, though they weren’t chipper to see her at the dance, a bad taste rising in MJ’s mouth as well as the strings pulling down her heart knowing she’d have gone to the dance with them instead. 

MJ had enough of Brad’s sly digs and Felicia’s irritability. 

“Hey,” Ned smiles first, slightly elbowing Betty whose smile had disappeared after she had slipped away from the hundreds of eyes that watched her lose the title as homecoming queen. 

“I think you deserved the title for sure,” MJ tries. “I voted for you.”

“So did I,” Ned beams and jokingly adds, “Plus, I didn’t need Gwen to have yet another ego boost.”

“But she won,” Betty added, her face not changing, but now MJ knows Betty’s ill feelings hadn’t been towards her, but caused by the frustrations of losing the royal title. 

“You’re still a queen in my heart, Brant,” MJ smiles. Betty returns one, inviting her to sit down on the table. As soon as MJ does, Flash approaches their group in a stumble, evidently buzzed from having pregamed on the way to the dance. His parents had rented the group a limo, which MJ thought was a ridiculous way to brag about money that could be used for more important things.

“This shit’s fucking boring,” Flash whines. An involuntary scoff escapes MJ’s mouth, but the bass of the stereo washed over the sound of disdain. “After party’s gonna be lit though. When are we blowing this thing anyw–”

“Come on Gwen, unclench.” The sound of Harry’s aggravated grumble interrupted Flash as Gwen pushed past him, grabbing her clutch and coat, her sharp movements at once slowing down despite Harry’s calls. “Gwen.”

“Fuck off, Harry.” 

“You’re ridiculous and I’m right.” 

“I don’t want to hear it,” she throws her coat over her shoulders before storming off, and although the music blared through the speakers, their entire table fell silent as all eyes fell onto Harry. 

He shrugs. “Sometimes even when you tell the truth, your best friend gets butthurt.” He tucks himself to the chair next to MJ, his presence is so dominant that MJ can’t get him out of her peripheral vision. He’d worn an all-black outfit just like her group’s planned color scheme, with one lavender handkerchief, folded neatly into his pocket. “How’s Felicia?”

Harry’s questions come in a whisper, his face nearly pressed closely to her ear. 

“She doesn’t care,” she repeats Felicia’s mantra of the night, MJ still wondering what catalyzed the attitude Felicia had that day knowing that it isn’t typical – there’s something going on in the background that brought out hostility in Felicia that night. Though MJ’s only known Felicia for a few weeks, her intuition never failed her. It’s something that she and her father had in common, though towards the end of her parents’ marriage, it was the one thing that her father had against her mother. 

“I don’t know what’s up her butt,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his pressed outfit and blowing air upwards so that the bottom of his perfectly groomed hair bounces. “We’re not together, and I _asked_ her if she cared about me walking Gwen out. I don’t even have a thing with Gwen.” 

In all honesty, MJ didn’t know what was going on with Felicia, and she surely didn’t want to give or take away any hope that Harry had for fixing things between the two of them. 

“Harry,” MJ says, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and patting it as she continues, “I have no fucking clue what to tell you.”

She scoots out of the chair, excusing herself from Cindy, Betty, and their dates as she makes her way to her dates to the night. They’d been dancing with each other to the beat of popular hip hop songs that MJ can recall from Eric’s playlists. She didn’t notice Harry trailing behind her until Felicia pulls MJ in with a quick motion, turning her back to the direction where she had come from. 

Harry lingers around the trio, trying his best to slip in a conversation. “Leesh.” 

Each time he repeats her name, Felicia’s hips sway faster with the beat of the bass as she swings her arms in the air. Brad hypes her up and MJ bounces up and down watching Harry’s face grow in frustration. His fists his hands tightly, anger rising in his eyes in a way that makes MJ fear for what’s to happen next.

“Felicia.” 

“Don’t you have a _queen_ to dance with?” Felicia finally relents, offering a sharp reply as she brings her body to a stop. 

Without mentioning the previous argument that drove Gwen away from the dance, Harry answers, “she doesn’t know how to.” 

“Gwen left,” MJ corrects him, baffled at how every time Harry speaks it’s like he doesn’t _want_ Felicia to understand his genuine disappointment of not being with her that night and not quite understanding why she wants to help Harry out with whatever situation the not-couple are in. 

“Doesn’t matter, Harry. I’m not dancing with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not a thing. So you can do whatever you want, dance with whoever you want. I don’t care.” 

“You don’t?” he quirks his brow.

“Nope.” 

“MJ, dance with me,” he suggests. MJ flicks her head at him with her eyebrows raised and eyes squinting at how ridiculously daft Harry could be.

“Go ahead,” Felicia seethes with an air of nonchalance that’s _too_ nonchalant. She looks at MJ, urging her on and expecting her to step forward and grab Harry’s hand to start dancing.

“Uh,” is all MJ lets out, everything happening so quickly as Brad uses his shoulder to urge her forward, eyes pointed to her, telling her that if she didn’t dance with Harry, something worse could go on. She continues to bobble by herself, arms crossed, and body tense from being uncomfortable. She’s read yot stand her ground, to finally tell both Harry and Felicia to both let whatever frustrations they had at each other go because they _clearly_ have feelings for each other until Felicia interrupts her with words that slap her in the face.

“Just unclench for once MJ. You need to stop being uptight.” 

At that moment, MJ had enough. She had enough of Harry’s pestering for answers, enough of Felicia’s attitude going overboard, and enough of Brad’s willingness to remain silent in the entire situation. She doesn’t know what comes over her as she steps closer to Harry, grabbing his hands and pulling him into the crowd – not one looking back to see Felicia’s reaction as they disappear into the middle of the dance floor.

But, of course, the universe loves to let MJ know that nothing will ever go right in her life. The fast-paced beats and strong bass of hip hop music transition into a slow, R&B song – a song that MJ loves so much, now tainted by the fact that she has to face Harry and dance with him. 

His shock turns into a somber, guilty look that speaks louder than all the bullshit he spewed to Gwen and Felicia. His lips tuck into a pressed smile.

“I’m sorry for that, I just–” 

“Whatever,” MJ says, shaking her head and pushing him to disregard the debacle. “She’d been upset all night about something and she took it out on me and Brad.” 

“Leesh tends to do that,” Harry says. “But she means well. She’s just going through a lot…” 

“There are healthier ways to express emotions.” 

“Have you not met a high school student?” he laughs, extending his hand and finally pulling her into a dance. She gives in with a sigh as she takes his hand with hers and places her other one on his shoulder. 

They sway to the slow song with space between them, MJ ensuring that this means nothing to her, that this is a dance of consolation – that the decision to take his hand was born out of feeling sorry for how much Harry had fucked things up on his own accord.

“I don’t bite, Michelle,” he senses her stiffness. 

“I didn’t think you did,” she answers. “I just want you to know that this isn’t–”

“Why isn’t it?” he probes. “Is it cause you like Parker so much?” 

“I don’t… I don’t like him.”

“That’s a lie,” he chuckles.

It is. 

“Don’t worry,” Harry nearly whispers again in that same tone of voice that amplifies his air of coolness. “I won’t tell him or anything.” 

“So you wouldn’t tell him about someone that likes him, but you’ll tell me everything about his relationship in a heartbeat?” 

He shakes his head as he takes the lead in their dance. “Me and Peter… we have a funny relationship.” 

“Okay,” she prolongs her vowels, expecting a full story. 

“My dad’s always comparing us, always telling me to be like Peter.” A beat. “ _You need Peter’s work ethic. You need to get into MIT like Peter. You need to study harder. You need to find a nice young girl like Peter has._ ” 

“Oh,” she breathes.

“It’s stupid,” he says. “He went to college with Ben, he loves the Parkers. Been there for May when everything happened. He loves them more than he loves his own damn family sometimes.” 

“That’s no reason to be an asshole.”

“I’m not an asshole to Peter, okay?” he scoffs. “I’ve done a lot for the kid. I don’t hate him. I even watched him date the person I liked all throughout middle school.”

Harry labeling Peter a kid despite being the same age rubs MJ the wrong way. She’s ready to end the dance, ready to drop her hands because she’s getting too much information that she didn’t ask for – information that she shouldn’t know despite the fact that knowing their history brings light onto a lot of the reason why that entire group acts that way. 

“I think I’m done dancing,” she says, finally letting go as the song comes to a finish and crossing her arms the way she does when she feels more aware of her surroundings – when she wants to protect her vulnerability. 

“Be careful with Parker,” Harry warns her while she tries to make her way out of the mess so she can go to Felicia and try to fix whatever the hell happened. Harry calls out after her, voice unwavering when he says, “He becomes too much when he starts to trust you.” 

When MJ arrives at the table, Felicia and Brad are gone. Her shoulders deflate, head was thrown back at her anger becoming the biggest enemy of the night. She grabs her purse from underneath the table, checking her phone to search for an answer as to why her only ride had left the dance.

**Brad Davis:** Left the dance. Felicia stormed out crying. Sorry MJ. :( 

She shoves the phone back in her purse as she heads out of the decked-out gymnasium. Before giving up and deciding to text Eric, Ned and Betty catch up with her. 

“Hey,” Ned says. “You want to go to Flash’s? I can take all of us. My mom lent me the van.” 

“You look like you need a pick me up with your friends,” Betty smiles though MJ can hear the little lift in her voice when she says _friends,_ like she’s trying to tell MJ she told her so although she never said anything in the first place. 

She gives in, nodding as Betty takes her hand and intertwines it with hers, rubbing the back of it as they walk to the van with the rest of the group. And as they drive off to Flash’s after-party in the silence of a car with a broken-down radio, all MJ could think about was how she knew she shouldn’t have gone to the dance – how the dance made her feel more isolated than ever before. 

* * *

Only a few minutes into stepping into Flash’s _mansion_ of a home, MJ wanted to leave. A lot of people in their class were already there, already downing cheap, plastic bottles of alcohol that Flash probably paid a 21-year-old big bucks for. She laughs at how desperate Flash can be to impress the senior class and laughs even harder knowing that his money is the one redeeming quality he had for the group. 

Either way, she couldn’t stand him. 

And she couldn’t stand the way each teenager sipped on their cans of beer and acted blacked out drunk knowing that one can won’t do much to a lot of people, having had experience in observing her friends from Belmont drink at Liz’s house when her parents weren’t home on Halloween. Both she and Liz opted out of it in the guise of being the designated sober people, though MJ refused to drink due to the fear of wanting to do it constantly the moment she tried it. 

Despite the freezing cold, MJ finds comfort in sitting in Flash’s backyard on a pool bench as she watches the lights brighten up the blue water, listening to the mini waterfall crash against the chlorine. 

“Hey,” she hears a familiar voice call from her – a comforting voice that’s been nothing but kind. She smiles at Ned, patting the empty chair next to her to welcome him into a conversation.

“Not drinking?” she asks. 

“I don’t… I don’t like doing things that can get me into trouble,” he admits. “I shouldn’t be doing that kind of stuff.” 

“None of us should be,” she snorts. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “but some people can get away with it.” 

She understands, thinking about the privilege that runs through the veins of everyone inside of that house, fueled by their parents’ bank accounts. 

“I get you,” she responds, thinking about her own identity and how it’s put her in a place that forces her to work once, twice, three times as hard as everyone around her – how it’s even pushed her to guilt her brother into not wanting to head straight into college after high school. 

Despite the muffled sounds of underage drinking and tasteless EDM, there’s a stillness in the backyard as the water flows calmly, a few autumn leaves peppered on the surface of the pool.

“It’s hard to feel like them, you know?” Ned opens up, scooting closer to MJ – their distance decreasing in a way that makes MJ more comfortable to be around him. She drops her hands to her sides, leaving herself unguarded as she listens to him. “What I saw in movies growing up, I thought I’d be living that typical life of a teenager – sneaking around, being rebellious, all of that… But that’s not how it is for me.” 

“I see.”

“I have to be careful. I have to make sure I don’t get in trouble because I don’t want my mom to be forced to leave here you know?”

MJ looks at him, tilting her head in the curiosity about what he’s referring to.

“I was born here,” he says, “but my mom wasn’t. She came here at 20 to give me a better life. And now I make sure that I’ll give her the life she deserves you know?”

She doesn’t know much about foreign countries or immigration – it’s not her place and she’s had the privilege of never having to question her place in the world. But MJ sees the genuine look in Ned’s eyes and the way it glistens with sorrow and hope and love all at once, and something within her makes MJ want to let him know she’ll do her best to understand. 

“You’re a good son,” she smiles softly at him, putting on hand on top of his as he looks down at them.

“I try,” he says. “We moved to Jericho because she heard about Midtown. And she wanted me to be the best of the best – made me do a bunch of clubs since middle school.” He laughs. “I met Peter in Robotics in sixth grade.” 

“Really?” she grins at the image of young Peter and young Ned messing around with metal and wires. 

“Yeah.” A beat. “You know he’s a good guy right?” 

Her heart softens. The two really are best friends. “Yeah, I know.” 

“He’s just… been through a lot. I’m sure he’s told you by now. He always tells me he has bad luck with everything, but I tell him there’s more out there for him than here.”

The way Ned talks about Peter with pride and reverence makes MJ miss Liz, making a note to herself that she should call her more because the way they left their last conversation isn’t the best example of friendship.

“Here,” Ned sits up, his voice lacking the cheery air it usually holds, “everyone’s at each other’s throats for the dumbest reasons, and it’s hard not to get caught up in it. Hard not to get lost.” 

MJ understands, knowing that it’s only been a few months and she’s already found herself in woven into the complications of everyone’s lives. 

“There’s a lot of history between lots of people, isn’t there?” 

“Yup,” Ned pops the end of his answer. “A lot.” 

“Harry told me a lot about him and Peter.” 

“That he’s insanely jealous of Peter?” Ned snorts until silence flows between them. “I’m kidding I guess.” 

“Can I ask you something, Ned? And you won’t take it the wrong way?” 

Ned turn to MJ, curious. “Sure.” 

“Why are you and Peter still friends with people when it seems like you don’t like them? Like Harry. Or Gwen.” 

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” he leans in, serious. “Gwen, Harry, and Peter have grown up together. They’re all involved with everything that’s happened in the past, and Peter feels indebted you know? And I’ll be by his side for anything.”

She wonders what past everyone keeps mentioning, wonders if asking will ruin the friendship that she and Ned were slowly forming. However, she doesn’t have much time to let a word out before the gate to the backyard opens.

And then MJ sees him.

* * *

Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t know why he ended up sneaking into Flash’s backyard late into the party after a dance he never even attended. But he needed to get out, needed to take his mind off the heavy day he’d had with May, May finally pushing him out of the apartment.

They had walked into their little two-bedroom apartment, facing the living room and kitchen at the same time as May unlocked the door. Both of them dropped their bodies on the couch, decompressing after an entire day of running around in Brooklyn, going to Ben’s old favorite places, and visiting his grave at the end of the night. 

“Alright, sweetie. What’s on your mind?” May asked as they soak in the stillness of their room, Peter’s ears rang with the lyrics of Ben’s favorite songs that they had spent listening to driving around. 

Celebrating his uncle’s death anniversary was always a poignant, intense thing – the first year being heavier than the second, and this third year feeling the lightest, like both he and May conquered their griefs individually and together, finally feeling the presence of Ben in a happier light. Like they could mention his name without choking up, as they could only remember the bright and happy memories of him. 

“Oh, May, you know I’m always just sad on this day, and–”

“I know that Pete, but I feel like,” she waved her hands as if she could catch the answer in the air. “There’s something else.” 

He thought about MJ, he thought about the kiss that they almost shared and how couldn’t stop smiling all the way home and about how, even after the evening passed and he drifted off into sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

In fact, Peter couldn’t remember when he didn’t think about MJ. 

She occupied his mind every day. 

“Earth to my nephew?” May chuckled. 

“Oh, sorry,” Peter stuttered. “It’s just… there’s this person.”

“Gwen?”

“No.. not her.” May raised her eyebrow at him. “I know, I know. It’s so soon, and I know you told me that I have to take care of myself and focus on me, and that high school’s not the entire world and I agree, May, I really do, but–” 

“Peter,” she placed a hand on his shoulder calmly. “Take deep breaths.” 

He did, one long inhale and a soothing exhale to follow. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”

“Honey, is this the MJ girl?” she guessed.

“How did…” He squints at May, her smile beamed with delight in getting the answer correctly. 

“Well, she’s the only other girl you really mention.” 

“Yeah, it is her,” he sighed. “But I know I can’t do anything because I don’t want her to think she’s a rebound. I want her to know that if I were to really do something about it, that I’m serious.”

“Good boy,” she ruffled his hair before looking at the time. “Jeez, I almost have my shift at the Deli soon.” 

“Yeah? Do you mind if I drop you off so I could go to–”

“Flash’s?”

“Yes,” he tucks his smile in. She nods. “Thanks, May.”

“I figured you’d be tired of being around me all day.” 

“Never.”

“Thank you for skipping your senior year homecoming for him.”

“It’s for you. For us.” May’s eyes nearly water, and the last few minutes they had before racing to the diner was left with Peter’s head tucked onto May’s shoulder, breathing in the time they spent together before parting ways. 

And Peter found himself facing the person he didn’t think would be there – the person he wanted so badly to see that night. Maybe his Parker luck was finally turning around.

He certainly did feel fate falling on his side when he met eyes with her from across the pool, watching her stop her conversation with Ned. Peter makes his way towards them, heart pounding with nerves as well as excitement watching his best friend interact with the girl he can’t get off his mind. 

“Hey,” Peter says.

“Hi,” MJ smiles. “Ned and I were just avoiding the party.”

“How was the dance?” 

Ned laughs. “This was probably the highlight of my night.” 

“I’m telling Betty you said that,” MJ jokes.

“Please don’t.” Ned pats his own thighs before standing up, offering his hand to Peter to their handshake, leaving MJ confused at the complexity of it.

“You’re both dorks,” she says as they shrug it off. 

“Speaking of Betty, I should find her,” he smiles. 

“Have fun, dude,” Peter says, pulling him into one more hug as Ned whispers that he hopes the same for Peter. Peter lightly shoves him in hopes that MJ didn’t hear the nonsense. 

When Peter settles back down into the bench, the unspoken words between them float in the air like a hard pill to swallow, and the only thing Peter wants to say is how he hasn’t forgotten about that night despite their mutual promise to throw it all away. 

“How was your day?” she asks. 

“It’s been… a day, really,” he answers in an exhausted sigh. “But my heart is full.” 

“I’m glad,” MJ shoots him an understanding smile. Although he hasn’t quite explained to her what he had been up to, MJ makes it known that he owes no explanation to anyone. It’s an experience of support that’s unknown to Peter, having had the uncontrollable need to over share his life up until last summer when Gwen slandered him for being too much for people sometimes. 

“May and I spent the day in the city,” he explains, heart beating fast at the revelation he’s about to bring to light. “We did all the things my uncle loved doing before… before he died.”

MJ’s head jerks up, eyes glistening with care and attention. “I’m so sorry, Peter.” 

“It’s okay,” he explains, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “I couldn’t go to homecoming because it’s his death anniversary. It’s been three years.” 

She places her hand on top of his, using her thumb to rub circles on his knuckles. “I’m glad you were there for May today.” 

“Yeah,” he smiles, thinking of the resilience that May exudes every day. “She takes care of me. It reminds me that Ben loved me even though my last words weren’t… weren’t the best to Ben before he was… he was shot.” 

“Peter…” she whispers, hand coming up to his cheek, using her thumb to wipe away the tears he didn’t realize was falling from his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Attempted robbery. I snuck out that night because he didn’t let me hang out with my friends. My dumbass forgot to lock the door, and… and…”

“You don’t have to keep explaining, Peter. It’s okay,” she pulls him into a tight embrace, massaging his back and cooling him down.

“Thank you,” he whispers into her ear, still wrapped in her arms like a blanket in the middle of a winter storm. “Thank you.” 

When they let go, Peter looks into MJ’s eyes, analyzing how the reflection of the pool lights glow on her face. She licks her lips and Peter notices the gloss on them. It’s the same gloss she wore in the summer when they’d gone to Brooklyn when Peter didn’t realize the ineffable need to impress her that day, to impress her every day when he was unaware of the feelings creeping into his stomach at this moment.

“You look really pretty,” he says, his mouth running faster than his mind – almost embarrassed with appearing so uncontrollably awkward.

“And therefore I have value?” she raises her brow. 

_Shit_. “No, I just–”

“I’m kidding, Peter,” she smiles. “You look pretty, too.”

“Thanks,” he says, eyes not breaking from her intense stare. She’s like the sun, making his entire world bright despite the midnight darkness cascading over them. “Do you want… I don’t know. Maybe you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” she smiles. “I’d love to.”

His heart is pounding faster and faster as they get up, stretching their legs before walking out the same way Peter came in. He watches MJ rub her arms, still only wearing her short sleeve dress. “Are you cold? Do you want my flannel?” 

“But then you’ll be cold.” 

“It’s okay,” he says, already removing the long sleeve from his shoulders. “Just take it.” 

“Only because it’ll make you feel better,” she snorts.

“Exactly.” 

* * *

“You’re not kidnapping me are you?” MJ asks as she looks out the window only seeing an empty road at night, Peter’s headlights being their only source of sight. 

“No, I’m not,” he fake scoffs. “We’re almost there.” 

He pulls up to an empty parking lot, streetlights illuminating the small park he would always go to as a kid – the space a lot livelier in the day time, but in the eerie darkness of night, Peter finds peace in the form of a swing set that he and Ben used to use growing up. 

“This is my happy place,” he says. “You can make fun of it. I know it’s kind of run down.”

“I like it,” she says as they step out of the car, MJ tucking herself tightly into the flannel he had thrown over her before. 

“Ben would take me here whenever I was sad,” he says. 

“I bet I can swing higher than you,” MJ teases, both of them rushing to the playground set. 

“It’s not about swinging high, it’s about jumping far when you’re done playing,” he says in tired breaths from rushing to the swing. 

“I can do both,” MJ returns. 

They chuckle as they sway their legs into the air, Peter feeling the breeze flowing against his legs, the old metal of the swingset squeaking as they find themselves flying higher and higher. His stomach starts hurting due to uncontrollable laughter as he listens to her sweet spews of competitive words, swearing to Peter she’d win. 

“That’s not fair, you’re taller than me!” he says through gasps and giggles. 

“Your fault, Parker,” she returns, “should’ve drank more milk as a kid.” 

“I’m still a kid,” he admits. “And that’s a myth.”

“You ready to jump and get your ass beat?” she shouts, their swings no longer leveled with each other. 

“Don’t be disappointed when you’re wrong,” he quips. 

They count down from three, both jumping into the air and knocking to the sand, Peter landing on his side with MJ just a touch further. 

“I’m never wrong,” she says, sitting up from the sand and dusting her body before standing up completely and offering a hand to Peter. She pulls him up, helping him remove the sand from the fabric of his clothes. 

“I believe you,” he chuckles, trying to recall the last time he’d felt free and full of laughter, only recalling memories how May would have to drive all the way to the park to get Ben and him to come home in time for dinner. The two boys would pout at her, but she stood her ground enough for both of them to listen immediately, saluting her as they walked back to the parking lot. 

He wants to lean in, her hands in his and the echo of their laughter still ringing in Peter’s head. Peter steps forward, one foot in front of the other.

“It’s getting late,” she shifts, slowly letting go of his hands after pulling him up, “we should probably…”

“I’ll take you home,” he smiles, heart stinging at the way she steps further from her.

They dust the sand off themselves one more time for good measure before they buckle in and drive out of the parking lot. Peter scans the road before he turns onto it, but sometimes, no matter how safe a driver can be, something can still happen. 

A car bumps into the back of Peter’s Camry, a loud sound metal crashing against metal as they spin into the sidewalk. Peter immediately pulls onto his emergency brake, the crash not strong enough to release the airbags. 

“Are you okay?” MJ asks in a panic. “Peter?” 

The words escape his mouth, his throat feeling tight and his head feeling like it’s caving in. It’s hard to breathe, every movement feeling sharp and blurry at the same time. 

“Peter?”

“I.. I can’t,” he tries, his mind being sent back to the past, back to the car crash that left him alone – the crash that sent him to May and Ben’s at three years old. “I can’t.”

“Deep breaths with me, Pete,” she says, “Let’s count.” 

He tries to focus on MJ’s voice, following her instructions of deep breaths, listening to the way she breathes with him, thinking about the way her voice sounds angelic when she breathes his name. After what seems like an eternity, his heart rate starts cooling down.

“You’re okay,” she reassures him. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I don’t know about your car. But the other driver left.”

“Shit,” he mumbles. “My aunt just got her car fucked up. I can’t afford this.” 

When they walked to the bumper, Peter breathes in relief seeing that the dent hadn’t been bad – that the sound of the crash was louder than what it truly was – his fear of accidents amplifying the noise.

He’s quiet on the way back home, pondering how he’ll tell May and how he’ll make enough money to cover the dent, his hands still shaking, one on the wheel and one on his lap. He takes deeper breaths, trying to make his way to MJ’s house. 

Suddenly, Peter feels her fingers intertwine with his free hand, squeezing it tightly twice and not letting go. 

“Thanks,” he says.

“We’re okay,” she repeats. 

* * *

“Peter…” Aunt May sighs, still in her work uniform since Peter had told her the moment he walked through the door, May in the living room waiting up for him to come home after her shift. 

“I know I’m sorry – I’ll work again, I’ll do my best to pay it off–”

“You know, I’m just glad you’re not hurt,” she says. “Please be careful next time.” 

“I-I know… I didn’t see it coming – I just…” 

“Peter,” she says again, head tilting and eyes watering. “I want you here for a long time.”

“I will be, May,” he looks down. May brings his chin up with her hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“I love you, Peter.”

“I love you, too, May.”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning. It’s late. Get some rest,” she kisses the top of his head and ruffles his hair before leaving to her bedroom.

Still shaken, Peter lies in his bed. 

Another moment he could have avoided. 

Another fault piling on top of his guilty conscience.

His phone vibrates, Peter taking it off the nightstand and seeing her name.

“Hey,” he says.

“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to check on you,” MJ whispers. 

“You on the roof?” he smiles.

“Yeah.” 

“Knew it.”

“I wish you were here.” Her words make his heart jump, stomach twisting with butterflies.

“Me too.” 

He takes a deep breath. “MJ?”

“Yeah?”

And he tells her. He explains the panic attack, he talks about his childhood, his past, his life with Ben and May. She listens to him, asking him more and more questions.

_What was your favorite birthday celebration?_

_Did you ever get into fights with May and Ben?_

_Did you mold your_ own _menorah for Ben? Do you like crafts?_

_How did Ben get you into photography?_

They talk until the sky looks rosy from the cloudy sunrise, Peter returning questions to MJ about her childhood, about what she misses the most, about anything and everything.

“I hope you’re not still on the roof,” he says, voice groggy from fatigue – a long day spent with little rest, Peter knowing he’d be knocked out until noon.

“I’m not.” MJ’s voice sounds similar to his, raspy and ready to call it a night.

“You should sleep,” he suggests.

“You, too.”

“Okay,” he says, not wanting to end the call. 

And neither of them do, Peter falling asleep to the sound of MJ’s light snores still on the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Finally got more insight on Peter.
> 
> Do you like knowing his POV?
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated! Let's chat on Twitter (@spideysmjs)
> 
> <3


	3. part five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s complex – a lot more than just “going for it” when they’ve already built an entire rollercoaster of history between them from the moment they met. He has to wait for the right moment to finally come clean and tell MJ how much she truly means to him, even if it does feel insane to have such intense emotions for someone Peter hasn’t even known for half a year. 
> 
> But Peter’s always been a patient person. 
> 
> He can wait this out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for being patient with this one.

He replays the same image over and over again, wondering if what had happened was real. 

Hell, Peter had been floating in his own cloud of blurred reality since homecoming. He never made it to the dance, but he’s sure that regardless of the fact that people dressed in glam and glory to squeeze into the smelly gymnasium that night, Peter probably had the most memorable night out of everyone.

The high of witnessing the moon turn into the sun, casting a light blue glow into his little bedroom as he talked on the phone with MJ all night didn’t falter when the weekend passed. It’s like that night in the park ignited something between them; perhaps it reignited the little embers bubbling in his stomach the day they first met in the ice cream shop. 

Back in the summer, Peter didn’t accept that electric pulse in his chest whenever MJ looked at him with her dark yet warm eyes. He _couldn’t_ accept it – not when he and Gwen had fallen apart, again and again, spiraling into a loop that was hard to escape, Peter knowing that the string that tied them together wasn't going to be cut easily. 

Peter really liked Gwen, liked her more than he could ever name the emotion he felt around her, and convinced that somewhere deep down, he always felt like it could be love – whatever love meant to a seventeen-year-old, anyway. 

This time around, as the orange and reds of the white oak trees slowly fade into crunchy leaves on the ground, Peter feels different. He feels at peace, and maybe he doesn’t feel completely at peace with his own existence, but he’s slowly starting to shake away the anxiety that comes with limiting who he is and what he wants because everyone around him says it’s too much. 

A part of his serenity, really, is because of MJ.

And he’s trying his best to not ruin the friendship that they’ve built ever since that night, not wanting to jump too fast into his feelings because he’s not even sure of what he feels other than the fact that when MJ’s not around, she’s all Peter ever thinks about. 

He downplays it, though, surrounding himself with caution feeling that, if he really manifested the feelings that were curling in the pit of his stomach, MJ would only think of herself as a rebound. 

She isn’t. Not in the slightest.

So he does his best to focus on their friendship, to build trust before he ruins it by having feelings. Peter’s already above average in being emotional, his group of friends evidently becoming tired of him when he talks about the things that make him sad or overshares the grief that makes his heart heavy as he drags himself through the hallways of Midtown.

That’s why each time Peter sees his two newly declared favorite letters pop up as a notification on his phone, his heart feels a hell of a lot lighter than it has been since before he can even remember. 

That’s why he found the courage to invite MJ to his and Ned’s annual Halloween plans. 

That’s why he took his chances even after, when Ned passed out from a sugar high, to ask her to stay at his apartment longer and watch a movie. It was a Friday night anyway. 

“I don’t want to overstay…” MJ said, Peter watching her hands fumbling. He shrugged and pursed his lips in the most casual way he could. 

“Ned stays here all the time. He just couldn’t last for the movie,” he responded. She looked hesitant, and Peter felt his ears feel hotter because of the embarrassing decision to try to take a leap of faith in hanging out with her more. Yet, as soon as he opened his mouth to take it all back, she shrugged before plopping back down on the couch with an empty space next to her. 

“You can even pick the next thing we watch,” Peter offered. She smiled, toothless and soft. It’d been a look he’d seen more often compared to when they had just first met, Peter remembering her stories of frustration regarding her father’s infidelity, and how she missed Liz and her other friends back home. 

Every time MJ smiled, it felt like heaven. 

“ _Black Mirror_ ,” she answered. 

They only had time for one episode, MJ reminding Peter that Tammy didn’t let her stay out past 11 despite the fact that it was a Friday night, and she had to _lie_ to even leave the house – something that Peter wasn’t sure was right, but the idea of convincing MJ to change her mind was more terrifying to him. 

Peter felt tense like their thighs were both craving the touch of one another’s. He wanted to hold her hand when he got scared. He wanted to kiss her on the cheek whenever she would let him. There were a lot of things that ran through Peter’s head in those 51 minutes of sitting next to MJ, but the one thing that never tired from his mind was the fact that he wanted that moment to be longer. 

So, as the school’s Associated Student Body replaces the spooky cobwebs and fake spiders with cartoon turkeys and what Peter believes are offensive depictions of history, he doesn’t shy away from finally inviting MJ to sit at lunch with him. 

He’s outside her classroom before lunch, attempting to not look too eager to see MJ after just a couple of evenings away from her. 

“Parker,” she greets, book clutched in her folded arms and hair pulled back into a ponytail with a bit of fringe blocking her face. 

“Hey,” he waves awkwardly despite being right in front of her. 

“What brings you to these neck of the woods?”

“You mean the math department?” he scrunches his face. She double steps, brushing past him as she answers. 

“Exactly.” 

“I just wanted to, I don’t know, _maybewecouldeatlunchtogether_?” he pitches the idea. She turns around quickly, eyebrows lifted. 

“With your friends?” she asks, Peter pretending not to notice the millisecond of a disappointed look she tries to hide. 

He looks down, fiddling with the straps of his dark blue hoodie, stuttering, “I don’t eat in the cafeteria anymore.” 

More people bump into his shoulders rushing to lunch. 

“Oh,” she says. “Where do you eat?”

He puffs his chest with false bravado, grips his backpack straps, and says, “Follow me and you’ll see.” Then, with his confidence, he bumps into a football player who stops in his tracks and stares Peter down. MJ’s eyes widen in panic.

A beat. “Sup Parker?” the football player says, offering Peter a half-hug that he cheerfully accepts.

“So lunch?” he asks. 

“Lunch,” she repeats, following him but not without glancing to the other side of the hallway where the cafeteria doors were packed with a sardine of hungry students, Peter wondering now if MJ had only accepted the offer in pity. Peter rushes forward to hide his red-stained cheeks from his embarrassing fumble trying to impress her, only feeling more embarrassed that he’s leading her to the damn library where they have Academic Decathlon meetings. 

He leads her to the second floor, in the corner he’s been spending his lunches since homecoming. As Peter leads her to the secluded area, he feels a sudden rush of nerves rushing into his head like the highway on Memorial Day weekend, slow but hectic all at once. Now that he’s taking MJ to this spot, he realizes how absolutely sad it might look to her knowing that this is where he spends his hour of freedom – alone and quiet. 

“You don’t buy lunch right?” he asks, pulling a seat out for her before realizing she hates when people do that. He pushes it back in as she tries to sit down. “Oh, sorry. I know you don’t like…” 

“People being nice?” she chimes in, letting her hand rest on top of his as they pull the chair out together. “Are you okay, Peter?” 

He moves around to the seat across from her, to get a perfect view of her. “Yeah, I’m good! I’m good. I thought you don’t like it when people open doors for you first and stuff.” 

She smiles. “Yeah, but it’s you. It’s okay.” 

“Oh,” he breathes, a tiny smile creeping on his face. 

“So this is where you eat now? Since when?” she asks, burying her hands in her backpack and pulling out a smushed peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

Peter hesitates for a beat, not wanting to reveal too much of himself knowing that everyone else thinks that he overshares his life story.

“A couple of weeks,” he holds back from explaining. She nods as if she understands, Peter hoping that maybe MJ actually did get him through those few words. 

“What about Ned?” she raises her brow, skeptical but not invasive. He thinks about the last conversation he had with Ned about leaving their group during lunch and how supportive his best friend truly is. 

Peter had texted him the Friday before homecoming, debriefing him on the fight he had with Gwen at the mall by sending three simple words:

_We fought again._

Ned immediately called Peter afterward. “ _Are you okay_?"

“I feel like you ask me this every day and the answer doesn’t change,” Peter sighed. “I don’t think I can do this _let’s be friends_ thing with Gwen anymore.” 

_“You always say that, Pete.”_

“I know. I think I mean it this time,” he plopped on his bed. “Even as friends, she expects something from me.”

_“What are you going to do? Ghost her? Disappear?”_

He nodded his head as if Ned saw him. “Maybe.”

They continued their conversation creating a plan for Peter to abandon their group at lunch, using college applications as an excuse to hide even though he’d finished his personal statements in the summer. Ned encouraged Peter to do what made him comfortable despite not being a big fan of the group anyway. 

“ _I’ll hold it down for the both of us_ ,” Ned insisted before hanging up the phone to babysit his little sister. 

The conversation echoes in Peter’s head as he drums his fingers against the mahogany table. “Ned likes socializing a lot more than I do.” 

It technically isn’t a lie. MJ drops the interrogation, though her questions were never out of wanting to dig up gossip in the first place, and starts picking at the crusts of her sandwich. Peter takes this moment to watch her, counting how many times she moves her bangs away from her face and looking at the different freckles he’s never noticed before. 

Even under the dim fluorescents in the dark corner of their beaten-down library, MJ’s breathtaking. 

“What?” she interrupts him, Peter nearly backing his chair into the wall behind him. 

“Have you gotten your SAT score back?” he scoops out jello from his cup. 

“Oh,” she looks down. “No. But I know I did horribly. Again.”

“That can’t be true, Em.”

She laughs, a small puff of air coming out of her nose. “I forget about that nickname.”

“Oh… I don’t have to use it.” 

“It’s just no one’s ever made me a nickname like that before,” she says. 

“Oh,” he straightens his posture in the chair, using his spoon to scoop up the remnants of his snack.

“Is that jello the only thing you’re eating for lunch?”

“Yeah,” he tucks the trash into the cup before tossing it into his brown paper bag. “I’m not that hungry.” 

“Not that hungry?” she scoffs. “I’ve seen you scarf down pizza after studying. You’re always hungry.” 

He shrugs in response, no other reasons populating his brain other than the fact that he doesn’t seem to have an appetite anymore. There hasn’t been much on Peter’s mind lately having gone on autopilot since their low-stakes car accident, compartmentalizing the dark thoughts that seep into his head each time he goes back to that night. 

What if they had been in a bigger car accident?

What if the road they were driving on was a cliff?

What if he had hurt MJ?

He feels his chest start to close again, pale knuckles curling as his hands grip the edges of his chair in an attempt to hide the panic flooding his head. Peter starts to focus on what happened after the accident when MJ helped him breathe and finally gets a grip on reality. 

It was a small bumper-to-bumper accident and the car wasn’t totaled. 

Jericho doesn’t have any dangerous cliffs to fling off of.

MJ has no broken bones or bruises. 

When he finally looks up, he meets eyes with MJ, who’s watching him intently, lips pressed together in concern. He chuckles, brushing off what had just happened knowing that if he spirals himself into the conversation and drags MJ with him, that she would regret going to lunch with him in the first place. 

He notes to himself that he won’t ask her to eat with him again – that he should stay in isolation before even trying to socialize with anyone because he and MJ are at a point in their friendship where he no longer has to barricade himself from her, but still not close enough where he can knock down the walls around him. 

There’s a balance that Peter doesn’t want to worry about his overbearing emotions knowing that MJ’s already dealing with leaving her entire life and creating another. He doesn’t need to block her from focusing on herself. He doesn’t want her to think he’s using her. 

She nods at him, somehow understanding that he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

Peter and MJ spend the rest of their lunch eating in silence, though it’s the most comfortable Peter’s felt with himself in weeks – the same familiar feeling of contentment he felt on the night of homecoming taking over his senses. 

When she’s not looking, he watches her, memorizing the way she looks when she’s done with her lunch and scrolling through social media, her chin resting in one hand and her phone in the other. He notices she looks different in silence, softer and less tense from having to keep up a conversation. 

She lifts her chin away from her hand and shakes it, Peter noticing the dents on the fingers she uses to write, wondering if she’d been scribbling in the journal that she used to work on in the breakroom of the ice cream shop. 

He wonders if she writes about him, wonders what she would say. 

He’s never wanted so badly to tell anyone how he feels about them. 

It’s complex – a lot more than just “going for it” when they’ve already built an entire rollercoaster of history between them from the moment they met. He has to wait for the right moment to finally come clean and tell MJ how much she truly means to him, even if it does feel insane to have such intense emotions for someone Peter hasn’t even known for half a year. 

But Peter’s always been a patient person. 

He can wait this out. 

* * *

“ANOTHER WIN!” Ned celebrates, hands in the air with the controlling still in his clutch. Peter tosses his controlling on the carpet of the floor. “Damn, you usually smoke me in Mario Kart. How’s it like feeling like a loser for once?”

“It makes me feel bad that you feel like this every day,” Peter quips. They both snort at their stupid banter before Nicole sneaks her way into the living room of the Leeds apartment. “Hey, Nicole.” 

“Hi Peter,” she says, twirling her hair with googly eyes so endearing that he wants to give her a big hug. 

“Stop being so in love with him Nicole,” Ned tosses a pillow at her face. 

“Kuya! Stop,” she frowns before throwing the pillow back and running straight into her room.

Ned sighs. “Nine-year-olds, man.” 

“It’s adorable,” Peter chuckles. “She feeds my ego.” 

“Yeah, you need it, dude. You aren’t looking so great these days.” 

Though Peter knows Ned is joking, the sentiment makes him wonder if he’s been walking around with a dark cloud over his head and if everyone else notices. 

“How’s the gang been doing without me?” 

“Do you really want to know the answer?” 

Peter bites his lips as he nods, anticipating the worst. 

Ned sighs as he turns off the console and monitor. “Harry’s been weird. Ever since homecoming with Felicia and whatever the hell happened between them, he’s just quiet. Like quieter than his usual brooding self. Gwen’s pissed at him too from that night. Apparently he said something that really made her mad, but she hasn’t said anything. I don’t think she has anyone to say anything to.” 

Guilt eats Peter up knowing he used to be the person that Gwen would run to when Harry was being an absolute idiot. When anyone was being an absolute idiot. Even himself. 

Ned notices Peter’s silence. “But I mean. Flash is still an idiot.” 

“I’m not surprised,” Peter acknowledges Ned’s attempt to walk away from the subject. “So lunch has been weird then?” 

“We all just kind of listen to Flash.”

Peter shudders. "Flash?"

“Exactly,” Ned says with a grimace. “It’s just lunch, though. It goes by pretty fast. Sometimes I don’t even sit with them because Betty asks me to sit with her friends.” 

“Wait, you sit with MJ sometimes?” 

“Yeah, all the time dude. MJ’s funny!” Ned exclaims, clapping his hands together. Peter stops himself from asking if she ever talks about him, not wanting Ned to judge him for already thinking about a girl after ghosting Gwen. “She makes fun of me a lot. In a good way, like we don’t have to pretend to be extra polite to each other. Like I’ve known her for a while. I see why you like her so much.” 

“What?” Peter stammers.

“As a friend,” Ned rolls his eyes. “But good to know that that might not be the case. Thanks for telling me.” 

“Right,” Peter mumbles. “I don’t know.”

“You gotta be careful, Peter.”

“With MJ?”

“Her, and everything else.” Ned places a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Ned. I’m fine.” 

“I know you’re anxious about something. You’ve worn the same hoodie this entire week.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything, Ned.”

“Peter, I know it’s Ben’s hoodie.” Peter looks down at the carpet, the remote he tossed on the floor still sitting there as exposed as he feels right now, guiltier now more than ever knowing he hadn’t told Ned about the car accident from homecoming. “Do you miss him? Is everything okay with May?” 

“I always miss him,” he feels his throat bob up and down, contemplating whether or not to inform Ned about that night. Ned cares about MJ, and from what Peter’s heard, they’re forming a stable friendship already. MJ does have that effect on people, though. “It’s always a hard time around the apartment after his death anniversary.”

Ben’s death hit May in an immeasurable amount of waves crashing onto the shore and like the tides, the grief within continues to push and pull. The cops never found the perpetrator, even if they had New York’s Finest solving the case, thanks to Captain Stacy. 

Peter still remembers the first night when he talked to the police, body shaking and voice trembling as he answered the questions that convinced him that the entire night was his fault – that there’s blood on his hands because he got into a ridiculous argument with his uncle just a few hours beforehand. 

But the worst questions came from Mr. Stacy in his own home after working hours, as he paced back and forth in the study room Peter had chosen to sleep in. That conversation he can recall, front and back – clear as day.

“Why were you and Ben arguing?” 

“He wouldn’t let me go to The Deli with Harry,” Peter said, hands rubbing his eyes to fight the exhaustion of losing sleep.

“Why did you sneak out of the house when you knew it was wrong?”

“I don’t know, sir.” 

“Are you aware of the curfew that minors have to obey?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“When did you decide to come back?” 

“Twenty minutes after I left.” 

“Wh–”

“Daddy, that’s enough,” Gwen had interjected, Peter not knowing how long she had been standing in the doorway before she spoke out. “This all just happened two days ago. And you’re not supposed to be working right now.”

Mr. Stacy fell silent knowing his daughter had a point. He bid good night to Peter with a huff and walked out of the study. Gwen had lingered in the room for longer, walking to Peter and sitting next to him on the leather couch. 

“I’m sorry we don’t have another room for you,” she said. “I used to take naps in here while my dad studied for his lieutenant exam. It was never comfortable.” 

“It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt that bad,” he lied as he winced at his lower back pain. 

“I know you haven’t been sleeping well in general,” she rested her head on his shoulder, a physical act that had never meant anything before, but in that moment, Peter found serenity in her touch. Like a part of him healed when he smelled her strawberry blonde hair. “I know my dad acts as emotionless as a rock, but…” 

She lifted herself up and looked at him directly, her hand grabbing his. “He just doesn’t want to show that he’s devastated either.” 

Peter knew Captain Stacy had to be devastated – he and Ben were roommates in college – but staying strong by drilling questions in Peter’s head that put the blame onto his own frail shoulder didn’t scream _strength_ to Peter. He didn’t say that, though.

“I’m here for you, Petey,” she smiled at him as she let go of his hands. 

“You’ve always been,” he said. “Thanks, Gwen.” 

And she truly was there for him through everything. She continued to interject when Captain Stacy refused to drop the blame on Peter. She stayed up in the study with him on nights where she could hear him screaming from nightmares. She had been patient with Peter, finally convincing him that it was okay to talk about his feelings. 

So he did, and when he did he broke like a crack dam, forcefully and never stopping. 

Gwen was there for that, too. 

She even let him sleep in her bed once, next to her.

Peter remembers that night. It had been the first night they kissed. She kissed his forehead, and then his lips. 

And then everything changed after that. Especially with Harry. 

But now, Peter’s too much and not enough all at once. He regrets ever learning to be open with Gwen knowing that it had been the downfall of their friendship, which is something that Peter wishes he never touched in the first place – their romantic relationship never being worth the loss of what they had built before the night that they had kissed. 

The more he thinks about it, the more Peter can’t even tell if the memories he has are real. He was in autopilot during those times, too. He feels the same way now, that feeling of not being able to talk about how he feels with anyone forcing him to revert back to who he had been during the darkest times of his life. 

“Hey,” Ned snaps him out of his spiral. “I’m sorry, Peter. I hope you know that I’m here for you.”

“Thank you, Ned.” 

Before he could say anything else, Mrs. Leeds walks out of her room and beelines towards the kitchen. “Anak, clean up okay? We have the dinner with Tammy.”

“Oh shit,” Ned whispers. “I forget that was today.”

“Tammy? MJ’s mom?” 

“Yeah. My mom had been asking them for dinner for a while now. They work together.” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Peter said.

“You didn’t tell me you like MJ,” Ned shrugged and left the couch leaving Peter alone with only the feeling of guilt keeping him company. 

As soon as he helped Ned set up the table, he gathers his laptop, pencil case, and calculus binder shoving it forcefully into his backpack. Nicole comes out of her room again now less timid than she was half an hour ago, runs over to Ned, and hugs him tightly. 

“Let’s eat,” she said. 

“We have to wait for the MJ and her family,” Ned explains.

“Why does Mama want to have them over so bad?”

“They’re nice.” Nicole had lost her attention to the topic, turning to the refrigerator to drink coconut juice. 

“Peter, are you staying for dinner?” Mrs. Leeds walked from the living room to the kitchen after her the credits began to roll on her favorite _teleseyres_. 

“No, I’m okay. Thank you for letting me stay over Tita Ellen,” he approaches her, giving her a hug before heading out the door. “See ya later Ned.” 

When Peter swings the door open he nearly comes in contact with a fist, taking two-step backs in confusion. He sees MJ dressed in the most formal clothes she’s ever been in aside from Homecoming. It’s a plain, blush-colored dress matching the color of Peter’s cheeks. 

Eric’s fake coughing grabs his attention enough to stop nearly gawking at his little sister. Tammy’s behind them with a bottle of Merlot in her hand. 

“Hey,” MJ says. 

“Hi,” Peter says as he picks at the bottom of his sleeves. “Hi, Tammy and Eric.” 

“Hello Peter,” Tammy greets him, a stern look still on her face. “Haven’t heard about you since summer.” 

“Mom,” MJ lightly places a hand on her shoulder. 

Peter pauses before saying, “I hope you’ve been doing well. Enjoy your dinner everyone.” He walks past them after they fill in the space of the living room. 

“Later, Parker,” she nods over to him. When the front door closes behind him, he can’t help but lean against the wood to catch his breath after his encounter with MJ. He’s never felt his heart rate increase so noticeably that it tugs at the bottom of his gut.

Following a few deep breaths, he heads over to his car and turns on his playlist. The first song to come on shuffle is the one MJ had shown him in the summer when he drove her home for the first time. The artist’s voice is sultry as she sings along the tune of an acoustic guitar.

_See you distract me, but I'm distracted without you_

_I don't know how to focus baby teach me how to_

As he pulls away from Ned’s apartment complex, Peter lets himself get lost in the song, each lyric revealing to himself how he truly feels and how incredibly screwed he’s going to be because of it, but Peter truly can’t help himself from falling for her.

* * *

MJ says goodbye to Peter as quickly as she said hello and can’t help but feel relieved that he didn’t have to stay. She hasn’t talked about Peter to her mom since they stopped talking. In fact, MJ hadn’t been talking to her mom much, too busy cramming for the SATs or writing her fourth draft of a personal statement for Berkeley on top of working closing shifts at Utterly Ice Cream.

She doesn’t exactly _know_ how to drop a conversation about a boy that wouldn’t make her mom faint of disappointment and stress, already having fibbed to Tammy regarding her whereabouts on Halloween, name dropping Betty and Cindy in order to avoid interrogation. 

When Ned’s mom greets them at the front of the house, the tension in MJ’s shoulders relaxes at the warmth of her voice. She pulls each of them into a quick hug before running off to the kitchen again. As she walks away, MJ smiles at Ned’s little sister, Nicole, who’s hiding timidly behind him. 

“Sup Leeds,” she nods. 

“MJ, be respectful,” Tammy says. “Hi, I’m Tammy.” 

He shakes her hand. “Do you mind taking your shoes off?” 

After they stack their shoes on the rack by the door, Ned walks all of them to the dining area, the space being smaller than MJ’s own condo. Tammy places the bottle of wine in the middle of the table taking steps toward the kitchen to ask Tita Ellen for a bottle opener. 

“I’ve never seen you in a bright color,” Ned says.

“And you still haven’t because you never saw me in this,” she says. 

“Sure, MJ.” 

Eric chuckles, listening in on their conversation. His presence is the only barrier in the way of MJ asking about Peter and why he had been there. She’s positive they were studying for their AP Physics final remembering how Peter had mentioned their teacher had already distributed study guides, but confirmation would make her feel less unsettled.

Running into Peter was unprepared, MJ needing to clear her mind again in order to anchor herself to the present. 

“I didn’t know what was on the menu, but I brought my best red,” Tammy tucks herself into the chair. “But if it doesn’t match with your dinner, you can keep it for some other time.” 

Tita Ellen inches herself from the kitchen to the dining table, the two places of open floor apartment adjacent to one another. As Ellen sets the food down on the fruit-decorated cloth, MJ takes the time to scan the home. It’s small – the living room, kitchen, and dinner table condensed into one open space and a small hallway in the middle that MJ assumes lead to their bedrooms. 

It’s a home that’s similar to Peter’s, similar to her own. And being there makes her feel less out of place in a school of New York suburbia’s wealthiest. 

When MJ takes a deep inhale, the strong aroma of comfort and warmth occupies her nose. There’s a bowl of stew, which Ned called _nilaga_ and a plate of vegetable lumpia. He tells her to dip the lumpia in the sauce full of vinegar and to use a spoon and fork while eating the stew. Her heart feels full realizing that it had been the first time in weeks that her own family had the chance to eat dinner together, MJ feeling even more elated with the fact that Tammy finally has a friend in Jericho. 

Adults need friends, too. It’s a thought that brushes MJ’s mind and never leaves, locking it in the back of her head like a secret weapon of knowledge she can use in the future when she becomes an adult herself. 

Tammy urges Eric to talk about the classes he’s taking at the community college, and Eric scarfs down his food quickly enough to answer Ellen’s questions about what he wanted to do after getting his associates. MJ leans in, waiting for his response, only now realizing she didn’t even know his answer. 

She and Eric have been fine. They hadn’t been bickering as they did in the summer, but MJ pinpoints it to the fact that they’d spend zero hours in the house together, both working part-time and being in school. 

“And how about you, MJ?” Ellen asks, grabbing the serving spoon and putting more pieces of cabbage on Nicole’s plate. “What do you want to do?”

“MJ’s been applying to all the Ivy Leagues,” Tammy answers for her. “She just finished taking her SATs. Sweetie, what was your score again?”

“I haven’t gotten the score back yet.” 

“Oh,” Tammy slumps her shoulders. “Well, it’s her third time trying and you know, third time’s a charm. We hope.” 

“I see,” Ellen nods along. 

“We’re aiming for Harvard or Columbia. With her extracurriculars and being transferred to Midtown, I think she’s guaranteed.”

“I thought you wanted to go to Berkeley, MJ?” Ned inquires, MJ tilting her head at him knowing for certain she had never mentioned her dream school to him before.

However, as she’s about to respond, Tammy answers again saying, “Berkeley? That’s too far and expensive. And the West Coast? You wouldn’t like it there, MJ.”

“As opposed to an Ivy,” MJ mutters under her breath, comparing the two school tuitions in her head and not seeing a difference at all. Anywhere she’d go, she’d have to apply to as many scholarships as she can, the impending doom of student loans cowering over her before she even steps foot into whatever school she attends.

“But Harvard is worth the price.”

“Actually, public education shouldn’t be–”

“Mrs. Leeds, your lumpia is really delicious,” Eric interrupts MJ, nudging her below the table with his foot and MJ loosens up, shaking away her bubbling frustrations. It probably isn’t best to hold a discussion about systemic problems in the educational institution during their first shared dinner with the Leeds family.

She takes a quick glance at Ned, who’s sharing the same solemn look at her like he understands. Ellen thanks Eric, offering the same gesture of calling her Tita. Nicole’s quiet, picking at the rice floating in her bowl of broth. Tammy’s sighing and MJ refuses to look at her mother’s face knowing that it’s suppressing an eye roll.

“Ned’s always talking about MIT,” Ellen smiles, “I’d be happy wherever he goes. But he wants to get accepted and go there with Peter.”

“It’s not likely,” Ned shrugs, grabbing another lumpia from the platter. “But one can dream.” 

“You and Peter are good friends?” Tammy asks. MJ wants to bang her head against the table. This conversation is the last thing she needs, the dinner that first warmed her heart now falling into pieces. 

“We’re best buds,” Ned’s smile shines brighter than the fluorescents of the kitchen lights. “He was my first friend when I moved here, and he’s been my best friend ever since.” 

“He’s a good boy,” Ellen adds, “And his aunt is wonderful.” 

“Aunt?” Tammy takes a sip of water.

“May,” Ellen answers. “She’s his guardian.” 

Tammy leans back. “What happened to his parents?”

“Ma,” MJ tries. Ned shifts in his seat, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and preparing for Ellen’s answer. She dives right in, starting with the car accident and ending with Uncle Ben’s murder, but with a much more abridged and subjective version of the story MJ heard from Peter’s own mouth. 

“Seems like he’s always finding himself in bad luck,” Tammy says, MJ unable to decipher what her mother means by her choice of words or the inflection in her voice. 

“Life is much easier for a lot of people, and harder for some,” Ellen almost whispers. “Everyone has to take what they can with what they are given by God.”

Tammy hums in agreement, chuckling as she says, “I’m wondering when God will make it my turn to have an easy life.”

Ellen leans forward. “Me, too.” 

They both chuckle, MJ releasing the grip she didn’t realize she had on her spoon and fork now that the conversation has been diverted away from the subject of Peter Parker. Except MJ can’t stop thinking about him, and she’s sure she hadn’t stopped thinking about him since they ran into each other. Or even before then. 

MJ hopes his life becomes a little lighter when they escape the high school hellscape of Midtown. She hopes that maybe she can one day be a part of the reason why it becomes easier knowing that – unbeknownst to Peter – summer would not have been as wonderful if not for him. And with the days of their first semester passing by, MJ can say the same for fall.

After Ellen accepts Tammy’s request to see the rest of the apartment before leaving, MJ sits on the couch to tie up her high tops, a piece of clothing she nearly argued with Tammy to wear despite knowing it didn’t match with the dress she had been forced to wear. Ned finds himself next to her, drumming his fingers on his thighs. 

“You okay?” Ned asks, somehow seeing right through her stoic attitude. 

“M’fine,” she answers with as much honesty as she can. “You know how parents can be, putting on that pressure to succeed which in the long-run is detrimental to your well-being.”

He chuckles. “Parents have a strange way of showing that they love you.” 

“If that,” MJ retorts, almost immediately guilty from making such an absurd assumption of her mom.

“When my mom and I argue, she comes into my room with mangos. And then I know that everything is okay.” 

MJ finishes looping her laces, offering nothing but an understanding grin to Ned knowing that, for as much as MJ wants to believe her mother would do the same thing, she had a feeling in her stomach that she’d be the one offering sliced fruit to Tammy sooner than the other way around. 

“Thanks for inviting us over, Leeds.” 

“No problem, Jones,” he salutes her. “It was nice meeting you, Eric.” 

“You too, bro,” Eric nods, shamelessly popping the earphones he brought for the short drive home. Ellen’s apartment tour lasts less than ten minutes, MJ turning red from embarrassment at her mom’s insistence to see the three bedrooms on the other side of the hallway.

The ride home is silent, a sound that MJ’s growing accustomed to hearing when she’s alone with her family, the buzz of Eric’s earphones loud enough that MJ can decipher lyrics about some kind of alcohol. 

From her memory, MJ replays her day at school trying to figure out what work she has to catch up on, remembering that her AP Chemistry homework packet was due and she hadn’t touched it all week, relying on Felicia to send her pictures of the answers like she began to do when MJ couldn’t figure out how to properly write out the compounds that Mr. Banner had assigned them. 

She’d been blatantly scribbling off Felicia’s work ever since. As if on cue, she hears the _ping_ from her phone and sees the pictures of the answers in her message thread with Felicia. 

**Felicia:** let’s hang out after school tomorrow

 **MJ:** i have decathlon practice for an hour.

 **Felicia:** ugh

 **Felicia:** stop being a nerd.

 **MJ:** don’t you have dance? It’s thursday.

 **Felicia:** yup. just felt like calling you a nerd. <3

 **Felicia:** it’s a date, then.

MJ curls her lips, thankful that Felicia put homecoming behind them despite still being confused as to what the hell exactly happened for Felicia to act spitefully towards Harry, other than the fact that Harry had gone to homecoming with someone else. All MJ remembers is coming back to chemistry the Monday after that ridiculous weekend and Felicia acting like almost nothing happened – save for the fact that she stopped casually mentioning Harry in their conversations. 

“Did you hear me, MJ?” Tammy asks with a stern voice. MJ looks up from the blue light of her phone, staring at Tammy’s eyes through the rearview mirror. “Ellen invited us to Thanksgiving. I said yes.”

“Awesome,” MJ answers with genuine excitement. Stepping foot into the Leeds apartment had transported her away from Midtown and away from the snobby students that travel to the ends of the Earth just to show off their parent’s money. She never felt uncomfortable, never felt like she didn’t belong. The thought never even came across her mind when she was there.

It’s how MJ feels every day she’s with Peter – like she doesn’t have to think about herself and she’s able to exist without being afraid to do so. And it’s a feeling that MJ hopes last now that she’s found it.

* * *

“Look, I’m just saying if writing the wellness article for the Finals Week publication is too much for you, you don’t have to do it,” Betty says, clutching her Editor-In-Chief clipboard against her chest as they walk out of AP Literature, Mr. Laufeyson spent the entire hour picking at their brains about _The Stranger_ , urging students to answer the questions that they don’t know the answers to. 

MJ’s positive she was the only one that read the book and the only one that can keep up with the discussion, not bothering to participate in the discussion as to why Mersault murdered the brother because as Camus’ proved through his writing, it’s meaningless _._

“I can do it, Betty. It’s no problem,” MJ insists, clutching her backpack straps as they walk to her locker to meet Cindy. 

“You have the Decathlon scrimmage before Thanksgiving break,” Betty takes double steps to catch up with MJ’s long strides. “And work. And college apps. And fin–”

“Betty, I can do it.” 

“Okay,” she relents. When they reach MJ’s locker, she exchanges her copy of _The Stranger_ with the massive Academic Decathlon Binder Gwen had provided at the end of her first meeting with the team. MJ hasn’t brushed up on the topics as much as she wanted to, relying on a Hail Mary moment to pull herself together right before the scrimmage next week. In fact, she hasn’t thought of Academic Decathlon at all, the only times she does is remembering when she has practice, and if Peter is going to be there. 

She closes the metal door again, staring at Betty's concerned face, the only response MJ has is to shrug before she repeats, “I can do it.”

“Do what?” his relaxed and dark voice sends shivers down her space. She shakes away the goosebumps rising in her shoulders and rolls her eyes before turning around.

“None of your concern, Harry.” 

MJ’s burdened with the possibility of running into Harry Osborn, and despite her best attempts in rushing through passing period just to avoid seeing him, Midtown is too small for her to be invisible. 

“Okay, Michelle,” he shuffles past her and Betty, brushing his pointed shoulders against hers to get to his side of their row of lockers. “Betty.”

“Harry,” Betty returns. The bustling sound of students rushing out of classes slows down, the halls emptying out and only scattered with students who devoted their free time to make their resumes for college look more impressive. She looks back at MJ, her eyes speaking as if she had more to say before Harry interrupted their conversation. “Well, the final draft is due next Wednesday, okay?” 

“Got it, chief,” MJ winks at Betty before she walks away, leaving MJ alone with Harry as she waits on Cindy for practice. She leans against the locker and uses her phone as an excuse to avoid having to exchange any kind of communication with him although she knows Harry will pry her open regardless.

“Haven’t seen you around here in a minute.” And so he starts.

“Been busy.” 

“I don’t see you around the cafeteria either.”

“Are you watching my every move, Harry? Because that’s borderline stalkerish. Actually, just stalkerish.”

“No, I’m not,” he mirrors her position against the locker, both of them people-watching. “I just notice when you’re not here.”

The sentiment makes her heart skip a beat even though she knows it shouldn’t, wishing Cindy would show up already, concerned because Cindy’s never late. Her eyes remain glued to her phone, scrolling through her own Instagram feed with knitted eyebrows as if she’s reviewing something important. From her peripherals, she watches Harry crack his knuckles and cross his arms. His left leg is bent, foot resting against the metal. He always presents himself purposefully, like he’s ready to be looked at. 

“Is that why you’re lingering here after school when you have no reason to be?” she retorts. If Harry wants to pry, she can play that game, too. 

“If you _need_ to know...” he steps away from the locker and runs his hands through his hair. He’s recently cut it, the curls no longer covering his eyes. MJ notices for the first time that they’re somewhere in between green and hazel. “I’m the president of FBLA, and we meet in that classroom.” 

She follows his pointed fingers to Mr. Stark’s classroom, a worn-out sign that reads _Future Business Leaders of America_ taped lazily to the window. She’s neither excited nor surprised that Harry’s in that kind of club. 

“Well, don’t be late, Mr. President,” she lifts herself from the locker and heads toward the library, her patience on Cindy running thin. She blocks Harry’s goodbye to her and speeds down the hallway. She hears the ping on her phone and looks at the screen.

**cind:** dude, wya? you’re late. gwen’s mad.

 **cind:** are you with peter?

MJ starts running when she remembers that they promised to meet each other _at_ practice and not before, disappointed in herself for not upholding her meticulous attention to detail. As she sprints through the halls, MJ unlocks her phone at the same time to try to send Cindy a quick response before she slams into a body falling to the ground. 

**mj:** bahromt

Her binder skids across the floor and her phone face down on the hallway floor. When she turns it over, she sees a large crack running down the middle as if her day hadn’t been rough enough. Her assailant quickly apologizes and runs off, grumbling about almost getting injured before basketball practice. She sits on the linoleum for a beat, accepting her losses before she sees a hand offering help. 

“You good?” Peter asks as he pulls her up, MJ sensing the strength in his muscles just by one swift movement. His hands feel coarse against hers, but their fingers intertwining with one another’s like puzzle pieces. It’s a touch that she’s longing to experience again as soon as his hands slip away.

“No,” she says without further explanation, not bothering to fix the sleeve of her flannel, one shoulder exposed to the shotty air conditioning. 

“Anderson never looks where he’s going,” Peter explains, MJ assuming he’s talking about her assailant. “Always got somewhere to be.”

“Well, so do I, and Gwen’s going to kick both of our asses for showing up late.”

“I told her I’d be late. I had to take care of something,” he says, opening the library door for her.

“Well, then _my_ ass is going to be kicked,” she walks through and witnesses a sea of heads turn directly to her and Peter. Although a library is meant to be a place for silence, a pin could drop on the floor and cause an explosion of sound from the piercing look that Gwen has on her face. Both she and Peter tuck themselves into seats next to Cindy and Ned, respectively. 

“You’re ten minutes late,” Gwen comments. “We start competing next week.”

“I know, I’m sor–”

Gwen stiffens her shoulders. “Just don’t be late again.”

MJ can feel the rising heat oozing through her body, nearly forgetting how to breathe. She _is_ late, it _is_ her fault, but somehow she feels an unnecessary slap in the face for how Gwen speaks to her. “Understood.”

She feels Cindy’s hand rest on her free hand as she shakily grabs the practice agenda with the other. MJ is never late. When she looks at Cindy, she sees her mouth, “ _it’s okay_.”

“Next thing you know, you’re gonna end up showing up after practice ends just like Parker,” Flash erupts the silence of everyone on their toes, walking on eggshells with the looming stress of their first scrimmage.

“Flash, not now,” Gwen says, a stern tone in her voice. “We’re going to do fifteen minutes of review and then drills. I’m setting the timer.”

The hour of practice is embarrassing, her heart never slowing down and her memory flashing back to her teammates' eyes staring her and Peter down like they’d been exposed. MJ has never felt as vulnerable as she did in those few seconds, wanting nothing more than to explain that they had run into each other right before entering the library while simultaneously hating the desire to even explain herself in the first place. 

MJ repents for her tardiness by refusing to sneak a glance at Peter, but her thoughts make her melt into a puddle as she thinks about how it’d be like to hold his hand more often, how she’d offer him lotion because winter is coming and the air is dry, how sweat would seep through the pores of her palms if she found her hands in Peter’s again. 

Time slips away, Gwen already wrapping up with announcements of extended practices next week. MJ makes a mental note of needing to let Wayne know she needs to adjust her schedule for work. She can’t help but rack her brain for something that’s missing but shakes away the thought as soon as they walk out of practice.

As soon as she waves Cindy off, MJ drags herself back to her locker and sees Felicia waiting patiently, dressed in her dance gear with a duffle bag hanging on her shoulders and her bun lazily topped on her head.

“Finally,” Felicia drags. “How was the competitive nerd gathering?”

“You’re a nerd, too, you know?”

“Not a competitive one,” Felicia argues, save for the fact that MJ’s seen the way Felicia speeds through her labs and exams like it’s a race and heard the way she talks about getting into the college of her dreams. They end up in her car, Felicia immediately blasting a song she explains is the remix her dance team is practicing for their winter show.

_Ping._

**Peter:** Hey. How are you feeling? Better?

 **MJ:** Eh. Practice was… interesting.

 **Peter:** [typing]

“I have to stop at the gas station,” Felicia says. 

“Sure.”

_Ping._

**Peter:** Gwen’s just stressed.

 **Peter:** Probably.

 **Peter:** It’s not you.

Though she’s typically an expert at perpetuating indifference, Peter can read her loud and clear. MJ wonders if this is what it feels like to have someone who truly understands you, and understands the feeling of desperately wanting to hide but feeling forced to reveal all the little parts of yourself. 

Then again, with Peter, she doesn’t feel forced.

Felicia parks and turns off the engine. She lets MJ stay in the car as she dips in and out of the market, a small paper bag clutched in her hands. She curls it up and tosses it to the backseat, emptying her wallet to reveal a scratcher and a penny. 

“You have a fake or something?” MJ asks. 

“I would never,” Felicia gasps, looking over her shoulder to back up from the parking spot. “I turned eighteen in June. My parents put me in school late.”

“I see.” The gears turn in her head, MJ realizing why Felicia doesn’t care about curfew most of the time, always watching her social media stories driving around at 2 in the morning. 

“18’s great. You can buy cigarettes and lotto tickets and download dating apps. It’s what I did all summer, basically.” MJ crinkles her nose at the thought of dating apps, remembering the tyrade of hookups Eric had before he started classes. “That’s how dumbass Harry and I ended up hooking up.” 

“He’s 18, too?”

Felicia hums. “I remember that night specifically. It was a couple of weeks before school started. Flash had a dumbass party like he always does and Brad begged me to go. I was bored out of my mind and then I got a match, and it was dumbass Harry.”

MJ doesn’t point out the way Felicia’s tone sounds nothing but endearing when she calls Harry a dumbass. 

“We left. We hooked up. We said it was once, but then it happened again, and he made me promise not to tell a soul.”

“You told Brad,” MJ points out.

“Brad doesn’t have a soul,” she jokes. “Brad doesn’t count. He’s one of the only people who get me, you know? One of the people I trust.” 

“What about the other dance people?”

“We’re all tight-knit. A family,” Felicia explains, “And after a few times of convincing Harry didn’t mind anymore. So long as his friends never find out. His friends suck.”

“Yeah,” MJ helplessly agrees, contemplating whether or not to reveal a little more to herself to Felicia. “Peter doesn’t suck.”

She leans her head against the seat and watches Felicia raise her eyebrows. “You and Peter Parker, huh?” 

“Why do you say it like that?” MJ laughs. 

“Harry talks about Peter a lot,” she says before correcting herself, “talked.”

“I could believe it.”

“According to him, his dad’s obsessed with Peter. He acts like Peter’s his own son. And it used to be cute when they were kids, but they’re not kids anymore. And apparently Peter hasn’t even been around in their friend group.”

Peter’s been with MJ, and she doesn’t dare mention it, but now she knows why Harry’s been trying to ask her questions. “Sounds like he’s a little obsessed, too.” 

Felicia shrugs. They pull up to her driveway in silence, MJ still not getting over the exterior of her parents’ house, like the cobblestone walkway and double doors are greeting her for the first time again. When the engine shuts off, the two sit for a beat. “Harry talked about you a lot, too.” 

Before MJ can say anything, Felicia hops out of the car grabbing her brown bag of mysterious purchases trailing ahead to unlock the house. In the fifteen seconds it takes for MJ to catch up to the front door, her mind has no time to decipher a way to respond to Felicia’s statement in a way that doesn’t break hell. She simply asks, “In what way?”

“He just... asks a lot of questions. Harry’s a curious person by nature, MJ. It’s not _you_. It’s the _novelty_. The next person in the limelight will get the same treatment.” 

It’s not that MJ doesn’t believe Felicia – it’s that she doesn’t trust Harry Osborn and the way he makes her nervous like he’s plotting something beneath the surface of simple curiosity. She thinks back to the night of homecoming and how he spoiled Gwen’s night, still wondering what he had mumbled to her during their slow dance that made her storm off. 

She had brainstormed with Betty and Cindy about the possibilities and even considered asking Ned, but her sleuth skills came to a stop when she realized that it was wrong to search for answers to questions that never involved her in the first place. 

There’s just something about Harry, MJ never being able to tell if how he speaks to her is how he speaks to everyone, or if he’s teasing her. Sometimes, it feels like flirting and although she’s never been a recipient of that feeling, Harry’s actions and words come close to what flirting is described like in the books she’s read.

But Felicia doesn’t like being proved wrong. 

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” MJ responds, pushing past the conversation, only internalizing the fact that Harry talks about her all the time and placing it next to the fact that Harry had said the same exact thing about Peter. MJ has never felt so public, so unprepared for what feels like the entire world wanting to read her. 

“I’m not worried,” Felicia snaps her out of her unraveling worry. “But you should be.”

“Why?” she climbs up the staircase to Felicia’s bedroom. 

“If it’s you and Peter, then there’s Gwen.” 

“I don’t think Gwen’s a bad person,” she offers. Felicia scoffs. “What’s so wrong about her?”

“She just really wants attention, but good attention. Gwen goes to the ends of the earth to save face. To try to be the high school sweetheart everyone loves. You know she had a crush on Brad their freshmen year?”

“Davis?”

“Yes, Davis,” Felicia laughs. “And when he rejected her, she told everyone else that _she_ rejected him so that people wouldn’t think of her as someone who could _ever_ be rejected.”

“It just seems like a small thing to panic about.”

“When you’re in high school,” Felicia lays down on her bed, still clutching the brown bag tighter than before. “Nothing feels small.”

“You’re right.”

“I am,” she pats herself on the back. It’s strange, Felicia ending her anecdote in a way that defends Gwen. She still doesn’t understand Felicia, nor does she understand Gwen. MJ wonders if her hometown was even a real high school or if Midtown’s a fever dream of the cliches she could list at the top of her head. Why her mom decided to enroll her in a school that anyone could easily tell didn’t fit MJ’s personality, she’d never know.

At least she got to meet Peter.

MJ watches Felicia peak into the brown paper bag, pulling out a pack of smokes. There’s another box inside, but she folds it up again and tucks in under her bed. “It’s been a while since I had one of these.” 

“Shouldn’t you try to last longer without it?”

“I have to,” Felicia comments, tossing the pack on the floor. “But thanks for the stern warning.”

“Sorry,” MJ says. 

“No, I get it. But you know,” Felicia sits up to face her before saying, “I really did mean what I said at homecoming. You need to learn how to let loose and have more fun. It’s the last year of high school before we go off and God knows what in whatever hole we end up in.”

The realization that her youth is coming to an end in a mere seven months only now hits MJ, learning more from Felicia than anyone else about the importance of basking in youth and the opportunity to do whatever the hell she wants to do. She looks at Felicia, her vibrant gray hair, and her all-black attire that never fails to stand out. Felicia has a name for herself, battling the eyes from the shady students who keep her on the watch. 

And if MJ’s going to be in front of that same audience, she might as well embrace herself.

Felicia puts her hand on top of MJ’s, squeezing it for a beat as she continues, “You owe it to yourself.”

* * *

There’s a rapt knock on Peter’s door while he’s tossing an old film roll up and down while in bed, sinking further and further into his mattress as the days of Thanksgiving break fly by. 

“Yeah?” he answers. May swings the door open, already dressed in her work attire. She has double shifts on Thanksgiving and Black Friday, a decision she had to make knowing holiday hours are doubled in pay. 

The thought of May overworking herself always crept in Peter’s conscience knowing that he’s always helped her out by finding a job. But with college applications and the overall commitment that a high schooler needs for senior year, May insisted on Peter to stop working for a while. 

“Just checking on you,” she walks in after Peter waves her closer, sitting at the foot of his bed as he continues to toss the roll of film. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Norm’s Thanksgiving dinner?” 

The thought of being at the _Osborn Manor_ makes him wince, Peter recalling the last conversation he had with Harry right before their one week break commenced. Harry had come to watch their Academic Decathlon scrimmage in the multi-purpose room, rushing to Peter’s old group of friends after Midtown was crowned champions that day.

Peter ran to MJ, congratulating her for being able to work under pressure for her first-ever game. They exchanged a brief hug, MJ’s almond and honey lotion finding territory under Peter’s nose. Their time was cut short because of Harry, who had leaned in for a hug and called MJ Michelle, and he whispered something in her ear that made Peter wish MJ was worse at hiding her feelings, wanting to know what she truly felt about Harry. 

When Harry walked away, MJ stared at Peter and smiled. “Congrats to you too, nerd.” 

Anytime she called him that, his heart would sore – the word acting as a signal that everything between them is good and will be good. Their relationship from the beginning of the school year had shifted, their text message chain increasing and more of their lunches being shared. It was a good feeling knowing that MJ had begun to weave herself into Peter’s daily life the way he had been wanting her to since they met in the summer. 

While she started discussing the questions she had been afraid of getting wrong, Peter couldn’t help but let his eyes linger to Harry, who was staring straight at him. Their friendship had never been the same since freshman year when Mr. Osborn dove deep into caring for May and Peter, constantly checking up on the two and offering as much help as a businessman had to offer, which – to Peter and May – was everything. On top of that, Peter and Gwen started dating, started spending more time alone with one another as all new couples do, only for Peter to find out that Harry had been harboring a crush on Gwen since before Peter even thought it was possible to think about Gwen in a different light.

So maybe Harry had felt abandoned or betrayed, or maybe Harry finally found a reason to push himself away from their friendship. But whatever the reason may have been, Peter had always felt a kind of intense air around Harry when they started to get older and gain a clearer sense of the world. 

It was the same air Peter felt at that scrimmage, in that one exchange as MJ fell right in between their line of sight. 

“I’m sure, May,” Peter answers, bringing himself back to the present. “Plus, you know Gwen and her family always go, too. It’s just weird now.”

“I thought you and Gwen were trying to be friends still.”

“We _were_ ,” he catches the roll of film and sets it on his bedside table. 

“I see,” May nods along. “Take it easy today. You’ve been friends with those two for as long as I can remember. It must hurt.”

The sad truth is, Peter’s numb to it, more numb than he ever assumed he would be. He sighs and says, “Yeah. I will.”

“I’m sorry to cut the conversation short, honey. I wish I could stay longer, but I have to get to work if I want to make enough money so we can double up on Hanukkah presents and make up for only celebrating Christmas the last couple of years.”

“We don’t have–” 

“I want to. For Ben. And for you.” 

May gets up from the bed, pulling Peter into a hug before leaving for work. He relaxes into it, whispering, “Love you May.” 

“Love you, too.” She gets up and leaves, and when Peter hears the front door close, he pulls out his phone for a call. 

“ _Hello_?” Ned answers, the sound of pots and pans clanging adding chaos to background noise. 

“Hey, dude. You wanna play a round of League?” 

“ _Aw_.” Peter can practically hear Ned’s frown. “ _I wish, dude. But I’m helping my mom out with dinner.”_

“I get it.” 

_“Still not going to Harry’s?”_

“Nope.”

_“Why don’t you come here, Peter? It’s a holiday – a shitty one, but still a holiday. You deserve to be around people who love you.”_

“Love you too, Ned. I don’t want to intrude.”

“ _My mom would never think that about you. Plus_ ,” Ned waits for a beat before saying, “ _I have a surprise you might enjoy_.”

“Okay,” Peter accepts, already walking toward his closet to wear his only set of formal attire – the same ones he uses for school award nights and part-time job interviews. He grabs his keys, thankful that May’s car is no longer in the shop despite the fact that the bumper’s still damaged from the little accident – the tiny dent a silent reminder of the night he and MJ became undeniably closer.

When he arrives at the Leeds apartment, he expects the sweet smell of sauteed garlic and onions wafting through the air and the sound of Nicole and Ned bickering for the TV remote. He expects a warm greeting from Tita Ellen and a few hours of playing video games. But what he doesn’t expect is MJ swinging the door open, greeting Peter with a soft smile and pulling him into a hug.

“Surprise,” she whispers in his ear before she lets go. 

“MJ,” he grins. The day he expected to sulk alone in his room is no longer putting him down, but lifting him up, being able to see MJ in her own element. Their encounter isn’t linked to school or work or studying and it’s refreshing.

“Where’s May?”

“She has to work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay. We usually go somewhere else together, but since she couldn’t, I decided to not,” Peter rubs the back of his neck, nerves building up in his muscles.

“Well, you’re here now,” Ned interjects before MJ can respond, ushering them both back into the living room. The tuck themselves tightly on the sofa, Peter greeting Eric again and searching for Tammy. She walks out from the hallway, stopping in her tracks as she sees him. 

“Peter,” she says. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Hi Tammy,” he stands up and shakes her hand. She puts her other hand on top of his, pushing a gentle squeeze. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” Tammy says quickly, letting her hands hug his for a beat before heading toward the kitchen to help Ellen. There was something different in her greeting, Peter noticing a shift in the way she acted toward him compared to their last encounter. He turns to MJ, who’s biting on her nails and blatantly analyzing the quick conversation. 

“So where were you supposed to be?” she asks quietly underneath the sound of the rerun of the Thanksgiving Day Parade, Ned and Nicole watching intently as they judge the floats and Eric’s eyes never leaving his phone. 

“Uh, Harry’s,” he swallows. “Mr. Osborn invites us every year. He and Ben and May all went to college together.”

“You two seemed to be really close before,” MJ says.

“We grew up together,” he says. “And...Gwen, too.” 

“Oh,” she says, her eyes shifting to her black nails, picking at the chipped corners as she shakes her leg. 

“Harry Osborn?” Eric asks. Peter looks over to him and nods. He stares at the two of them for a flash before going back to his phone. 

“We all used to be best friends and then high school happened. Harry’s just different. He has different opportunities than I do. He gets to leave high school and really get out there without worrying about anything else.”

“I get it,” MJ says, grabbing Peter’s hand slowly. Her legs stop shaking. “You’ll get out of here, too, Peter. You’re going to leave Jericho and meet the right people who don’t push their insecurities onto you.” 

He watches their hands as their fingers slip in between each other, Peter wondering if anyone else is watching – if anyone else cares. He takes a quick glance around the room, everyone else in their own lives as his and MJ’s blend together.

When MJ says Peter will meet the right people, Peter’s already holding hands with one of them. She always grabs his hands, comforting him when his voice starts to falter, their conversations always deep and intense and revealing in a way that Peter’s never experienced before. No one ever wanted to know more from him, and he never wanted to be heard by anyone so badly. Yet, this time, she doesn’t let go, their hands locked like a secret promise between the two.

His hands are rough against hers, praying that they don’t get clammy.

Dinner comes and goes, their stomachs and hearts full of comfort. Around eight, Tammy insists she leaves, drunk from Merlot as she tosses her keys to Eric. MJ gets up, Peter watching her mumble something to her mom. Tammy’s eyebrows scrunch together before loosening up. MJ gives her a quick kiss and sits back down while they wave goodbye to everyone.

“What happened?” Peter asks.

“I asked if I could stay longer.” MJ sits back on the couch. “You’re driving me home, by the way.” 

“Do I look like a taxi driver to you?” he jokes.

“No, but I can get you a hat if you want.” 

“I could pull it off.”

“Oh, nevermind then,” she playfully rolls her eyes. Ned decides on a movie, something lighthearted and animated so Nicole could join. He sets up blanks on the floor for him and his sister, a tradition that Peter’s watched many times before. 

Ned presses play for _Trolls._ MJ scoots closer to Peter on the couch despite the extra space now. She puts her legs up, curling into a ball next to him after spreading an extra blanket around the both of them. Instinctively, he grabs her hand as she rests her head on his shoulder.

He wonders if she can feel his heart rate going up. He feels her breathing become heavy. 

She squeezes the grip around his hands, and he squeezes back. His eyes drift down to MJ, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, giggling at the song the trolls are performing in the movie. He can’t help but smile, feeling a strong pang in his swelling heart as he continues to watch her. Peter doesn’t just want to tell her how he feels about her – he wants to drive down empty streets with the windows down screaming it to the entire world. 

He’s never felt so sure of anything before. 

When he takes her home, he feels the brisk air moving in and out of the windows, feeling so differently months after their first drive together. She’s louder, more vibrant as she belts out lyrics to her favorite song. Peter wonders if this is the purpose of driving with friends, each ride they’ve shared pushing them closer together through conversations and touch.

MJ’s long and thick hair flies around the car, falling in front of her face. She doesn’t move it or tuck it in her ears, accepting the mess and tangle that the wind is bringing. She laughs when her voice cracks at a high note, and he can’t help but giggle. 

“What?” she finally runs her hands through her hair.

“Nothing,” he grins. 

And as they pull up to her driveway, he lowers the volume – her neighborhood streets quiet as the clock approaches eleven. MJ takes a deep breath, Peter wondering what thoughts are running through her mind, and if she feels the same way he does after today.

She turns quickly to him. “Thank you for the ride.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, turning the engine off. He wants to tell her because his heart is still singing and screaming under the flickering lamp post of the silent street. Taking a deep breath, he turns to her and says, “MJ–”

She interrupts him, leaning forward and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Parker,” her lips tug into a small smile. “Get home safe.”

When MJ gets out of the car, he watches her until the door closes behind her. He didn’t have to tell her because she _knows_ , and somehow that kiss on the cheek meant everything, Peter’s fingers still tracing the touch she left on his skin. 

* * *

When MJ shuts the door behind her, she brings her fingers to her lips as she leans against the door. The step she took was small, but it was everything that she wanted – everything that she wants as she thinks about what it would have felt like if her lips were pressed against Peter’s.

But the happiness doesn’t last, Tammy walking to the living room with her arms crossed and MJ noticing Eric tucked on the bottom of the stairs. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, flicking the lights in the hallway wondering why Eric had been sulking in the dark. 

“Dad called,” he whispers.

Her stomach drops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked it.
> 
> Your comments and kudos are much appreciated. This little story means a lot to me, and I enjoy reading all of your thoughts. Let's chat on Twitter! @spideysmjs - I also have been more active on my Tumblr - @briens. 
> 
> ♥


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